


Don't Bite The Hand That Feeds You

by wtfkovah



Series: A Wolf And A Kitten Walk Into A Bar [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Meetings, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Interspecies Awkwardness, Interspecies Romance, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Rituals, Meet-Cute, Sharing a Room, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24745189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfkovah/pseuds/wtfkovah
Summary: As first impressions go, Jihoon doesn’t paint a good one.Or a second one.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Series: A Wolf And A Kitten Walk Into A Bar [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789360
Comments: 32
Kudos: 431





	Don't Bite The Hand That Feeds You

**Author's Note:**

> Technically this is a re-upload, but with 12,000 extra words...it's also not :)) I really loved this universe and wanted to expand on it, but I'd sort of accidentally written several plot holes in the previous version and I was struggling to work around them in the sequels, so I made adjustments. Hopefully y'all still enjoy it!

“Hey, you must be Jihoon. I’m Choi Seungcheol, pleasure to meet you. I’m new and thought I’d introduce myself to everyone.” Seungcheol holds out his hand politely, flashing him a quick, transparent grin, all teeth; and Jihoon, a second slower on the uptake, spits out, “This is my territory—fuck off!”

Which, he accepts, is an absolutely awful thing to say to the newly hired junior associate, but Jihoon feels he has good reasons.

Very good reasons.

Seungcheol however, doesn’t seem to share these reasons, because he just stands there, slack jawed, blinking in astonishment.

“W-wait, _what_?”

Instead of answering, Jihoon storms off.

It’s not a strategic retreat or anything, he just needs to clear his head for a bit because his new co-worker, the man he’ll be expected to share an office with for the foreseeable future, is a fucking _Werewolf_.

A werewolf.

Which is—fuck—the absolute _last_ thing Jihoon needs right now. He was just starting to settle in here, starting to make a nice little life for himself. Not making many friends as such, but interacting with just enough people each day to keep him happy. And _now_ —now there’s a big, smelly werewolf in his office and he has no idea what he’s going to do.

Despite their terrible introduction, he manages to temper himself before the 10am department meeting—enough to sit across from Seungcheol as the senior partner drones on. He spends the entire time staring at his notes, bristling with irritation, pretending he can't feel Seungcheol's gaze lingering on him with pointed interest.

Their interactions continue in much the same way for the rest of the week, until finally, Seungcheol corners him in the break room on Friday.

The thing about Werewolves is that they look like ordinary people from a normal person’s perspective. It’s only when you’re a shifter _yourself_ that you can sense that something is off. A bone deep instinct that tells you you’re in the presence of a predator, that _this_ is a being capable of violence, full of danger and power.

Bumping into any shifter always made Jihoon feel uncomfortable—but he’s always been especially anxious around werewolves, and getting cornered by one while attempting to eat his lunch leaves him more bristly than usual.

“Okay, so you know I’m a werewolf.” Seungcheol says, as casually as though he has this conversation all the time. “Thing is—you’d only be able to tell if you were a shifter too, but honestly, I’m kind of struggling to identify your species. What are you exactly?”

Jihoon’s shoulders tense. He hates the flush he can feel creeping up the sides of his neck, spreading across his cheeks.

“I—I thought you could tell. You’ve been staring at me all week.”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “I _was_ staring, but only because I've never smelled anything like you before,” he says, and again, his calm, casual tone lends a surreal aspect to the conversation. “It's different. Kind of…. _sweet_. Like a cupcake.”

 _Oh shit! I smell delicious_ —Jihoon thinks, trying very hard not to panic. When he panics, things tend to go into slow motion, and Seungcheol's words are disconcerting enough without them stretching out even _longer_.

“I'm ... I'm a Felid,” He manages to spit out, glaring, as if daring Seungcheol to laugh.

“Felid? You mean like a cat?” Seungcheol grins, moving closer, and Jihoon doesn't back away, even though every ounce of good judgment demands it. Something about the way the guy is looking at him—gaze hot and intense with unreserved interest—has him frozen in place.

Seungcheol continues to stare at him, as if mesmerized for a moment longer. Then he seems to shake himself out of it.

“I don’t have to be your enemy, Jihoon. I’m here to work and make a living for myself, just like you. So let’s just try and get along, yeah?” He says, then he just _walks_ away.

Like he honestly believes it can be that simple.

_Unbelievable._

* * *

Of a surety, Jihoon’s shifting peculiarities have landed him in worse situations than sharing an office with a Werewolf, even if it doesn’t always feel like it.

Nothing beats going through puberty and realizing that while all your friend’s bodies are changing, yours is doing so in quite _unexpected_ ways.

“Mom—,’ Jihoon began, stepping into the kitchen one day, “My body...is _changing.”_

“Of course, it is Jihoon.” She rinsed out the cloth in her hand and turned a warm smile to him. “That’s perfectly normal. You’re growing up, and your body will change in many ways. It happens to everyone. They should have taught you this in school by now.”

Jihoon’s shoulders slumped, self-conscious. “They did—but they never covered _this_ kind of change.”

His mother’s smile faded away when Jihoon turned wordlessly, and shoved his pants down enough to show the patch of fur at the base of his spine, the long tail trailing down his leg.

“Oh god, _Jihoon_ ,” she said, low-voiced. “Have you told anyone else?”

He stood momentarily mute, uncertain. Her voice grew sharp. “This is important, Jihoon. Have you shown anybody at all?”

“No, it just happened last night. You’re the only person I’ve told,” He blurted, wringing his hands together awkwardly.

She breathed out, her smile reforming in relief. “Oh, thank god.”

Jihoon had a dozen questions to ask her—more than that, closer to a hundred probably—but he found himself tongue-tied, unable to do anything other than widen his eyes beseechingly.

“You can’t tell anyone else about this. Ever. Do you understand?” His mother spoke quietly, but firmly.

Then she sent him to his room and the following day his parents pulled him from school and informed him he was to be home schooled from then on.

It did nothing to help him feel normal—but he quickly accepted it was for the best to keep it secret.

It was only many years later, when he left home for college did Jihoon realise there were many others like himself. Not kittens exactly, but cat, dogs, birds, reptiles—every animal under the sun hiding in plain sight, trying to lead normal lives.

The only way you could tell was if you were one yourself, because humans—normal people—all smelled the same. They smelled stale, _boring_. People like Jihoon though, they smelled different. Each and every one of them had a unique scent specific to their species, and suddenly Jihoon’s nose was a gateway to a life he’d been pretending was all just a bad dream.

The guy who lived across the hall from him was a Hedgehog, the Barista at his favourite coffee shop was a Flamingo, and the girl who sat next to him during his ‘Consumer Law’ lectures was a Komodo dragon, and the first person to ever say, ‘Aw you’re a Felid huh? That’s cute.’ She was the first real friend Jihoon ever made too, and the one to direct him to the private chatroom where he finally, _finally_ got some fucking answers.

The process of self-discovery was hardly clear cut though.

Felids were rare apparently. So rare there was hardly any mention of them anywhere, and any information he _could_ gather was hypothetical at best, based on some pretty shaky research conducted on the next closest ‘Big Cat’ species.

He came across the term ‘Shifter’ when he was scouring through a series of anonymous blogposts, where people just like him were trying to reach out for help, people who also felt isolated and afraid. And there were people reaching back, a whole community of shifters welcoming him with opens arms, and Jihoon…..

Jihoon took absolutely no part in it.

He was too scared to open up. So terrified of what might happen to himself, to his parents, if he ever got caught, that he kept to himself throughout college _and_ after.

It’s the biggest regret he ever had, because at twenty-five years old, he’s a very lonely kitten.

* * *

As first impressions go, Jihoon doesn’t paint a good one.

Or a second one.

He’s lovely to look at, certainly, and smells like a freshly baked cupcake—but he’s sharp, and unyielding and clearly unimpressed that he has to share his office space with a wolf.

Seungcheol tries to stay out of his way to begin with, but it’s difficult when you work in the same office and have to collaborate on occasion. And if he’s being honest, Seungcheol’s not interested in maintaining a distance either because Jihoon’s a fascinating ‘ _Felid’_ species Seungcheol’s never had an opportunity to see, and he’s genuinely curious about him.

He tries not to let that curiosity get in the way of his work, but seeing as Jihoon seems reluctant to socialise with him _outside_ of work, Seungcheol really has no choice but to openly stare at him at each and every opportunity that presents itself.

Jihoon notices of course, and shoots back withering looks that seem to say, _‘I’m on to you’_ , like he thinks Seungcheol might, at any moment, urinate at the corners of his desk or something.

Felids are fiercely territorial it seems.

* * *

At first, Jihoon spurns interactions with Seungcheol whenever he can.

It isn't just that the other man is a well-known predator species, it’s also because he’s insufferable and brash and annoyingly competent. From day one he’s all louche mockery and lecherous grins, so overconfident in his sense of self-worth he slouches when he’s meeting clients and lounges around in meetings like he’s a member of a vaguely sleazy club instead of trained solicitor in a respectable corporate law firm.

There’s also the small matter of his _scent_ , and how it grates against Jihoon like a physical force, riling him up and making him bristle. But that’s just par for the course when it comes to interacting with other shifters, and not exactly something Jihoon can afford to complain about without highlighting his own _peculiarities_.

In the scheme of things, Seungcheol’s scent is tolerable, unlike his attitude, which is just— _eugh_.

Judging by the dark looks Seungcheol is constantly levelling at him across the office, the animosity is mutual.

Still though, they’re on the same career path and both up for promotion soon, so they end up paired together on several cases whether Jihoon likes it or not.

Mostly not.

Seungcheol’s a brilliant lawyer and his confidence is just on the right side of cocky to be charming, so naturally he takes the lead on most projects and is the senior partner’s _favourite_ for this promotion.

Jihoon’s always tried to be a team player, knows that working together for the greater good is necessary sometimes yadda, yadda, yadda...but the idea of Seungcheol succeeding over him _rankles_ , and Jihoon can’t help but shoot down a lot the ideas he brings to the table.

Even the genius ones.

At first, Seungcheol is pretty accepting about the criticism, and rehashes several of his ideas based on Jihoon’s “feedback”. His accommodating mood shifts soon enough, when he realises Jihoon is just being critical for the hell of it, and begins to bite back.

They wage war on all mediums: sniping at each other face to face, over the phone, via email, text, hastily scribbled post it notes left on each other’s desks. They’ve had glaring matches across boardroom tables, across office spaces and memorably, across bathroom cubicles that one strange time.

It doesn't surprise Jihoon when he hears, eventually, that they've developed a reputation for fighting like cats and dogs—since, in a sense, they _are_ those things. It _does_ surprise him however, when it’s shortly followed by rumors; salacious office gossip that implies their dislike of each other is just a big façade, and that they are in fact, secretly in love and fucking like rabbits.

Jihoon has no idea where _that_ bullshit rumor originated, but he suspects Seungkwan has a hand in it. He’s the only other person who shares their office space and is privy to their biggest blowouts, and he’s the only person with a sneaky little smile on his face when they’re engaging each other in another glaring match.

But despite all that—the irritation and anger and bubbling resentment—Jihoon has yet to see Seungcheol _shift._

He doubts that he ever will too, as Seungcheol manages to remain cool and collected in most situations, even during periods of high stress when Jihoon feels himself creeping to the edge.

The only glimpse Jihoon gets that proves Seungcheol's keeping a caged animal at bay happens once. In retrospect, it was the day before a full moon, when all shifters have a tenuous grip on their transformations and become more hyper-aware of their surroundings.

They’re crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s on their latest collaboration when Jihoon snaps his laptop shut in frustration and Seungcheol startles and then _growls_.

When Jihoon turns his head towards the noise in surprise, he sees it.

Seungcheol’s eyes have shifted from their usual dark brown to bright red, and his hair isn’t dark black and slicked back anymore. It’s shorter and rougher, and in the dim light Jihoon could swear he sees a glint of sharp claws.

The shift doesn’t last more than a few seconds, and the next time Jihoon blinks Seungcheol has returned to normal, and is looking right back at him, wide-eyed and oddly apologetic.

Thankfully, nobody else in the office had been paying attention, but Jihoon’s not surprised when Seungcheol calls in sick the next day. 

* * *

Jihoon eats yet another solitary dinner at his favourite Sushi restaurant, the one only a stone’s throw away from work. Sure, the food is pricey and a little overrated, but the staff always have a way of making him feel like he’s at home, so Jihoon finds himself coming back more often than his strident sense of prudence normally allows.

It’s late when he finally pays his bill and leaves, heading back towards the multi-story car park he normally keeps his car. And Jihoon is tired from a long day’s work a bit distracted replying to a text, so he could be forgiven for failing to notice the two shadows that begin trailing him.

Two shadows that follow him all the way to his car, finally converging as he reaches into his pocket to pull out his keys.

“Hey cutie, nice car. How about we go for a ride.”

Jihoon turns his head at that, hand frozen in his pocket, and finds two guys standing a few feet behind him. They’re both about a foot taller he is, and they’re both sporting some pretty unflattering buzz cuts that make their ears stick out rather obviously. Not exactly the most intimidating people you could meet in an unlit car park, but there _is_ two of them, and that’s enough of an incentive to have Jihoon scrambling to unlock his door.

A strong hand clamps around his shoulder before he can manage it though, yanking him back roughly and making him drop his keys.

“Hey—that’s rude. I’m talking to you.”

Instinctively Jihoon fights back, swings his fist around, connecting squarely with a stubbly jaw. He can more than hold his own in a fight, but this time his efforts only earn him a knee to the gut followed by a hand around his throat.

“Go away.” Jihoon hisses, biting and clawing at the thug that slams him against the side of the car.

The guy isn't expecting that, and he stumbles back a step, his face showing his surprise even in the semi-darkness. It feels good to gain the upper hand, to have those Felid instincts working in his favour for once, but Jihoon doesn't have long to enjoy it.

The two thugs exchange a brief, knowing look, before twin sneers of amusement creep across their faces.

“Well, well—if it isn’t a little Kitten.” Thug one says, as Thug two steps closer and takes a sniff, “Oh, smell that. He smells _good_.”

Jihoon feels himself go numb with fear as the men start cackling. _Laughing_ —like a bunch of demented hyenas, and that’s when Jihoon realises that, shit—that’s _exactly_ what they are.

They’re shifters too, and he’s been too busy shoring up his defenses, he’s failed to sniff out and assess them for the real danger they pose.

He has a flash of foresight to how this is going to turn out and considers just handing over his keys. Maybe his wallet too. The car’s insured anyway and he can always cancel his bank cards, and whatever cash he’s carrying is a small price to pay to avoid getting stabbed. Or—or _worse_.

But before he can make up his mind, the men’s laughter cuts off abruptly and they both snap their heads towards the back of the car where, suddenly, _miraculously_ —Seungcheol has appeared.

The silence that falls then is deafening; Jihoon can hear a car alarm go off a mile away.

Seungcheol doesn’t make a move, doesn’t say anything—he just divides a look between Jihoon, Thug 1, Thug 2 and the set of keys laying on the ground, and then he just grins and oh—oh, wow, that’s…that’s a lot of _teeth_. That’s a lot of very _sharp_ , very _jagged_ looking teeth and it’s no wonder the two Thugs just tuck tail and run. 

They sprint, right across the car park, as fast as their stumbling footsteps allow, whimpering as they go. Jihoon’s almost tempted to join them honestly, because _Jesus_ —Seungcheol looks terrifying right now, with his blood red eyes and his many teeth, glinting like white jagged rocks in the darkness.

Thankfully, Seungcheol’s expression shifts back a moment later as he steps closer.

Jihoon waits—breathes—until his heart stops ricocheting with panic. "What are you doing here?"

He doesn't plan on admitting how frightened he was a second ago, or how relieved he is to see Seungcheol’s familiar face. Yeah, the guy just saved his ass, but a dark, empty carpark close to midnight is probably not the best time or place to let his guard down around a werewolf.

Seungcheol doesn’t answer his question though—he just steps forward, bending down to pick up Jihoon’s keys. “You shouldn’t park here Jihoon. Maybe find somewhere closer to work,” He says, holding the keys out in the palm of his hand.

This is probably the moment where Jihoon should thank him and agree, maybe even offer to buy him a drink sometime. But Jihoon finds himself suddenly torn between flustered arousal and anger, and with him, anger _always_ wins out.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” He snaps, grabbing the keys out of Seungcheol’s outstretched hand.

If Seungcheol’s stunned by how ungracious Jihoon’s being, he does an excellent job of hiding it. He just slips his hands into his coat pocket and stares at Jihoon, looking entirely too world weary.

“I’m not telling you what to do Jihoon, I’m just _suggesting_ you park somewhere else. It’s not safe here.”

“Then why are _you_ parked here.” Jihoon huffs.

Even in the dark, he can still see Seungcheol roll his eyes.

“Well, geez, I don’t know. Maybe because _I’m_ not a tiny kitten.”

“I’m not a tiny kitten either. I’m a grown ass man, and I’ll park wherever the hell I want.” Jihoon emphasizes with a finger pointed in Seungcheol’s face. 

Seungcheol breathes out a low, slow breath, like he’s trying hard to reign in his temper before he speaks again. But instead of saying anything, he just turns on his feet and walks off, presumably towards his own car.

The following Monday, Jihoon’s surprised to find the paperwork for a parking permit sitting on his desk when he arrives at work. A parking permit that will allow him to use the car park just outside the building. A parking permit paid in _full_.

He’s a little suspicious of course; the timing is too convenient. But his suspicions only last until lunchtime, when he discovers that Seungkwan has received a parking permit too. As have several _other_ people in their department.

He figures it must be a new employee initiative, put in place by company to reward them for their hard work, because he refuses to believe that Seungcheol would pay for so many people to have a safe place to park just because _Jihoon_ needs one.

That—that would be _ridiculous_.

* * *

Ridiculous.

This whole business is ridiculous.

And Seungcheol’s probably the _most_ ridiculous person for putting up with it, but he had no choice because Jihoon—contrary little bastard that he is—was probably going to just keep parking his car in stupidly dangerous places until Seungcheol did something about it. And since Seungcheol can’t exactly follow him around everywhere to make sure he gets home safely, (that would be a whole new level of ridiculousness) he had to pay through the nose for _everyone_ on the department to get a parking permit.

Everyone. Just so that Jihoon wouldn’t get all _uptight_ about it and start accusing him of one rotten thing or the other.

God!

Seungcheol shouldn’t have to do that. He shouldn’t. He has no idea why he’s even involving himself with the wellbeing of someone who does nothing but give him the stink-eye all day long, but he must have seriously got his wires crossed at some point, because something about _Jihoon’s_ angry glaring makes him feel especially….happy.

Which—why?

 _Why_?

It doesn’t make any _sense_.

Seungcheol likes to think of himself as a man with tastes that are – if not refined, then at the very least discerning. He has standards, ideals, and very well defined preferences. Not so much when it comes to someone’s appearance, but more with regards to their _personality_. He likes his partners to be intelligent, witty, sharp enough to be just a little dangerous but still sweet and soft enough to cuddle. He likes to be challenged, but he's not a push-over; ultimately he likes to be in charge.

What he doesn't like is butting his head constantly up against a wall until his ears ring; feeling like every decision he makes is wrong, and not only that, but that he’ll _always_ be wrong because someone is being critical for the hell of it. He hates being made to feel like he’ll never be good enough, no matter how hard he tries, and that he’s stupid and clumsy in comparison to everyone else.

That's why this _thing_ he feels towards Jihoon—whatever it is—doesn't make any sense.

It’s just—

It’s ridiculous.

* * *

"There must be some mistake," Seungcheol insists, tiredly. "The airline assured me I would be granted accommodation here. The reservation should be under Choi, not Seungcheol. Choi is my surname."

The hotel clerk rubs her eyes and blinks at the computer screen. "I appreciate what you’re telling me Sir, but I’ve checked numerous times and I can’t seem to find your reservation at all. There’s nothing I can do for you."

This kind of luxury hotel usually comes with clerks who’ll bend over backwards to accommodate you, but with the impending monsoon, the numerous cancelled flights and the endless queue of angry hotel guests in the line behind him, this particular clerk seems to have reached the end of her tether and is in a less than accommodating mood. 

Seungcheol sighs in resignation. Getting stuck on the other side of the world without a place to stay isn't normally a huge issue for an easy-going fella like him, but it becomes somewhat _more_ complicated when it happens on the night before the full moon. When he _needs_ to sleep, when he’s already battling some pretty crazy urges, when every little irritant is magnified tenfold.

No—it’s _paramount_ he finds a quiet place to stay the night, or who knows what could happen to push him over the edge.

This day could not get any worse.

"What do you _mean_ , my reservation isn't in the computer? Check it again."

Oh, fuck, yes it _could_.

Seungcheol turns his head to confirm what his ears have already told him: Lee Jihoon is standing not ten feet away, shouting at another hapless desk clerk with much greater spirit than Seungcheol's apathy had allowed. 

It makes sense, in a woefully hilarious way.

After all, Seungcheol knew there was at least one other person from his firm attending the International Litigation conference, and of course it just _had_ to be Jihoon. Like Seungcheol, he must have been staying in the conference facilities until the end of the conference today, and he must have also been booked on the same flight as Seungcheol, which had been cancelled hours before boarding due to inclement weather. And now they’ve both been shuttled to the same hotel by the airline, and, apparently, have both been rejected as emergency guests by the hotel's booking system.

"I’m sorry I can’t help you Mr Lee," The hotel clerk stammers, "There appears to be no reservation, and the hotel is fully booked. Please understand."

"No, _you_ understand! I have to have a room tonight, I have to!" Jihoon snarls, looking like he’s about to claw someone’s eyes out, possible seconds away from shifting.

Seungcheol point blank refuses to get involved in that—though yeah, he appreciates _why_ Jihoon’s so desperate to get a room tonight—it’s not his responsibility to play mediator for angry cat people. It’s not.

Which is why he’s surprised to find himself stepping forward anyway.

"Jihoon, what a pleasant surprise. I didn't expect to run into you here." he forces himself to say in a hearty, friendly way.

Jihoon's aspect shifts immediately upon hearing his name. He stops his snarling, threatening stance, and turns towards Seungcheol with a confused frown—an expression that buckles even further, turning into something anxious and skittish as he finally recognizes his colleague.

"W-what are you doing here?" he murmurs, not quite meeting Seungcheol’s eyes. “Were you attending the conference too?”

Seungcheol nods genially, “Yeah, been here all weekend. I’m surprised I didn’t bump into you sooner actually, I figured we’d have been seated together on the plane since our reservations would have—oh, wait a second.”

Pausing, he immediately turns to the clerk Jihoon had been berating. "You know, the confusion might be because our reservations are recorded under the _company’s_ name," he suggests. "We both work for the same law firm you see, and my emergency reservation would have been made at the same time as this gentleman's, since we were both on the same return flight."

The clerk blinks several times before taking Seungcheol's hint and typing furiously. "Oh, you work together," he asks with audible relief. "Oh, I understand what happened. When the airline sent us your details, our computer system must have detected a double booking and automatically deleted one. So now it appears you have both been assigned to a single room. One bed—"

"WHAT!" Jihoon flails, before the man can finish.

“But we have a room, right?” Seungcheol talks over him, calmly, "A room with a bed to sleep on?"

"Yes sir—but it’s only the one room. There’s only one bed.” the clerk manages nervously, looking between them like he’s not sure which person to direct the information to.

“That’s okay, we can share.” Seungcheol half-smiles, before he catches sight of Jihoon's expression.

It’s adorable.

Wait, no, wait—he’s getting his wires crossed again.

It’s actually _murderous_.

"I am _not_ sharing a bed with you Seungcheol," Jihoon hisses slowly.

"Jesus, relax, okay. You can be the big spoon." Seungcheol offers wryly. 

Jihoon scowls at him.

And scowls some more.

Then opens his mouth to maybe _yell_ something, but by then the clerk is gratefully babbling instructions, handing Seungcheol a key and directing them towards the elevators, and Seungcheol wastes no time in grabbing hold of their bags and carting Jihoon away.

* * *

There must be a God up there somewhere because their room has a couch. Not a fold out couch, and not an especially comfortable couch either, but there are plenty of extra blankets and pillows in the wardrobe, and if Seungcheol stacks enough cushions under his head he can’t feel the stiff armrest digging into his shoulders.

He can make do.

He’ll _have_ to make do actually, because the double bed is on the smaller side and Seungcheol never believed for a moment that Jihoon was ever going to let him share. Though the way Jihoon hovers uncertainly in the entry way as Seungcheol starts arranging the cushions and blankets suggests that maybe that’s what he was expecting?

There’s a definite look of surprise on his face when he realises that wasn’t Seungcheol’s intention. Or maybe the surprise is reserved for the fact that _Seungcheol’s_ the one taking the couch. It _would_ make a lot more sense for Jihoon to kip on the couch, he is much smaller after all, but Seungcheol’s too relieved to just have a place to rest tonight that for once he’s not going to argue. 

“You realise this arrangement is going to make people gossip about us even more.” Jihoon begins, finally wading into the room to hang up his suit jacket.

Seungcheol makes a skeptical face, “How are they going to find out we shared a room?”

Jihoon somehow manages to glare at him _and_ stare incredulously at the same time. “Because the invoice we submit will be for _one_ room. Someone in the expenses department is bound to notice that, and they’ll think we shared a room because we’re—” he cuts himself off there, and makes a vague hand gesture that’s obviously supposed to mean something _sexual_.

Seungcheol only laughs quietly. “So? Who cares what they think?”

“I care.” Jihoon pouts. “I don’t want people at work thinking I’d ever do anything with _you_.”

Seungcheol gives him a sour look, and wonders if he should try and challenge the comment.

In the end, he decides to just shrug it off.

“Well—that’s your problem. I don’t care what other people think about me. In fact, I think it’s pretty flattering people put so much effort into fabricating these rumors. I look forward to hearing what they come up with next.”

It’s obviously the _wrong_ thing to say, because Jihoon levels him a slit eyed look of suspicion, like perhaps he thinks _Seungcheol_ planned the whole thing. That he had their flight cancelled, and that maybe he’s the one responsible for the apocalyptic monsoon raging outside too.

Honestly.

Instead of pursuing the conversation, Jihoon busies himself with his luggage, extracting a small toiletry bag and politely informing Seungcheol that he would be using the bathroom first to have a shower, _‘if that’s all right’._

"Sure, knock yourself out, I prefer to shower in the morning anyway," Seungcheol manages, starting to unbutton his shirt. He changes into his sleep gear in record time, and is already making himself comfortable on the couch even before he hears the shower running.

He’s always had an inkling that Jihoon would be very thorough with his hygiene rituals, as in accordance with his species’ aptitude for grooming, and _boy_ was he right about that.

Jihoon actually takes _forever_ in the bathroom; almost three times as long as Seungcheol would ever spend. Even 45 minutes after the water shuts off, he’s still in there—doing God knows what. Probably talking to his reflection in the mirror, psyching himself up to suffocate Seungcheol in his sleep or something.

Surely drying yourself off shouldn’t take _that_ long? And neither should brushing your teeth or combing your hair, so unless Jihoon’s decided to make use of the complimentary lotion and moisturize every inch of his pert little bod—

Oh fuck!

Seungcheol is a little alarmed at how quickly his dick responds to that thought.

Inappropriate erection! Inappropriate goddamn erection!

Finally, a whole _hour_ after Seungcheol hears the shower turn off, Jihoon comes shuffling out of the bathroom in a fluffy bathrobe. Correction— _two_ bathrobes.

Seungcheol does a double take when Jihoon shrugs off one bathrobe to reveal a second bathrobe underneath, and a pair of sleep shorts that Jihoon quickly conceals by tugging the robe tightly around himself.

Seungcheol can’t help himself, he has to ask:

“Why are you wearing _two_ bathrobes?”

“It’s none of your business.” Jihoon snaps, scowling at him over his shoulder. He’s obviously self-conscious about Seungcheol seeing _something_ , and keeps the bathrobe on as he climbs into bed, borrowing under the covers.

It’s safe to say sharing was totally an option, because Jihoon is tiny, and now that he’s curled up in the bed Seungcheol estimates there’s 80% of the bed left unused. Plenty of room for him too, if Jihoon wasn’t so uptight and liable to freak out about it.

Jihoon must notice him staring at the vast, empty space, and follows the direction of his thoughts because he immediately snipes, “Don’t even _think_ about it Seungcheol.”

“What do you mean?” Seungcheol asks, dragging himself upright gingerly.

Jihoon snuggles a little more under the covers and lowers his voice, “Just….don’t get any ideas.”

Seungcheol barely resists the urge to grin, “Could you be more specific?”

There’s a minute of huffy silence, before Jihoon reaches over to dim the lights and says, “Just—whatever it is you’re thinking—don’t do it.”

Hidden in the shadows, Seungcheol finally allows himself to grin, “Alright. I guess I’ll just wait till you fall asleep before I lick you all over. I like to play with my food before I eat it.”

From the very angry, very loud yowling coming from the bed, the sarcasm was not appreciated.

* * *

“So where are you from originally?” Seungcheol asks one afternoon.

It’s lunch and they’re the only ones left in the office, and Jihoon clutches his tuna sandwich a little tighter when Seungcheol saunters over to his desk.

“Busan.” He answers quickly.

“Ahh, a Busan boy.” Seungcheol grins, taking Jihoon’s answer as permission to round the desk and perch himself on the edge. “I’m from Daegu myself. What brought you to Seoul?”

“Better opportunities, better pay, change of scenery—you know, the usual.” Jihoon says with a shrug. “Why did _you_ move from Daegu?”

Seungcheol gifts him with a grimacing little smile, sharp canines chewing into one of those plump, distracting lips. “Somebody figured out what I was where I used to live, and didn’t handle it too well. So I didn’t have much of a choice but to pack up and leave. But I guess you could say it all worked out for the better. I’m really enjoying it here now, and everyone seems really nice.” He says, waving a hand at their surroundings

“Oh. Erm—that’s good.” Jihoon mumbles, hoping his lack of enthusiasm will bring a prompt end to the conversation.

But Seungcheol just sidles closer—too close, their sleeves have no business touching like that. “So—do you know of any _other_ shifters?”

Jihoon hesitates, does his best to read past the gleam in Seungcheol’s eyes. “No.” he finally says and relaxes a little when Seungcheol nods amiably.

“Just me huh? Well—I know a few wolves like myself, my dental hygienist is part human—part peacock or _something_ , and I once saw two guys transform into _Lions_ during a fight. But I’ve never seen a kitten before,” Seungcheol smiles, leaning in close to Jihoon’s ear, “Till I met you.”

Jihoon shivers, hairs rising along the back of his neck and tail curling in his pant leg, invoked by Seungcheol’s hushed voice.

“I—I’ve never met another kitten either.” He murmurs.

“Really? None?” Seungcheol blinks. His brow furrows thoughtfully. “That must be lonely.”

Jihoon shakes his head, looking away briefly. “Not really. I’m used to it.”

Seungcheol’s silent for a beat, then he leans in close again to ask, “What do you look like when you’re fully shifted? How small?”

Jihoon snaps his head up, squints at him suspiciously instead of answering. He’s made a point of telling Seungcheol as little about himself as possible, and he’s not looking to change that.

They already seize every opportunity they can to demean and embarrass each other—but just because Jihoon has the decency not to go around telling people about Seungcheol's unique _affliction,_ doesn't mean Seungcheol is similarly inclined. Jihoon has no desire to arm him with any information that _might_ at some point be used against him; possibly in public, in front of the senior partners for instance.

“Is there a problem?” Seungcheol asks when he notes Jihoon’s silence and his squinty expression.

“Why do you want to know?” Jihoon snaps.

Seungcheol tilts his head at that, considering. The look in his eyes is far too focused for Jihoon’s comfort. “Because we work together Jihoon. We’re collaborating on a lot of cases together and we share an office. I’ve been here five months and I don’t feel like I know you at all. I’d like to change that.”

Jihoon wrinkles his nose. “I think you know enough.”

There's a wry tilt to Seungcheol's mouth, the beginnings of a smirk. He remains sitting at the edge of Jihoon’s desk a minute longer, before shrugging.

“Have it your way.” He says, jumping up and heading back to his own desk with apparent unconcern. 

_Good_ —Jihoon thinks, tucking into his lunch again.

Hopefully Seungcheol will take his persistent silence for the dismissal it is and never speak to him again. Although, that thought is so unexpectedly upsetting that Jihoon promptly shoves it to the back of his mind.

* * *

It’s taken a few months of fruitless conversations to get there, but Seungcheol’s beginning to think that Jihoon’s exaggerated annoyance—his hooded eyes and perturbed frowns, disdain punctuated by perfunctory glances and clipped sentences, no matter what Seungcheol does—is all just a form of self-protection.

And that’s ~~ridiculous~~

That’s _fine_ , really, because in the rare event that someone has the good sense to regard Seungcheol as a high-risk anomaly, he’s not going to insult their intelligence by pretending he’s anything else.

He’s a Werewolf, okay, he _gets_ it; there’s a long and sordid legacy that comes with that label, and of course a tiny cat-person like Jihoon is going to be paranoid around him.

But as time goes on, he finds himself more and more annoyed in turn; Jihoon’s aggrieved scowls and huffs of irritation are an itch somewhere Seungcheol can’t quite reach, something that makes him want to dare to be exactly what Jihoon thinks he isn't—something sincere, something permanent, something, dare he think it— _better_.

Of course, he doesn’t have the foggiest idea on how to actually _demonstrate_ any of that. Or at least, not in a way a sheltered shifter like Jihoon would understand.

Traditionally, when a werewolf wants to ingratiate themselves with another, they would present a gift of some kind, and usually the carcass of a dead animal. It serves as a message, a tentative treaty that says— _Look, I could have eaten you, but instead I killed this animal so we can eat it together. Because I like you._

Somehow, Seungcheol doesn’t think Jihoon would appreciate finding dead animals on his desk. But Seungcheol’s sure if he just keeps his eyes open, keeps watching his co-worker, he’ll have one of those light-bulb moments eventually. 

* * *

Today it turning out to be a day from hell, and it’s only 11:00 am.

Jihoon has already sat through an hour-long breakfast meeting to discuss the failure of his most recent case with the senior partners, and survived the morning with only a slight headache from frowning too much. The breakfast spread they had on hand was abysmal; the coffee had been cold, the orange juice warm, and the pastries had passed fresh sometime in the distant past.

But when he arrives at his desk, there is a fresh, piping hot cup of tea on his desk, made the way he likes it, and the freshest donut he has ever smelt. It’s still warm and the glaze is still cooling, like it has been baked especially for him and whisked straight from the oven to the paper bag on his desk.

Jihoon is rightfully suspicious as he examines the offering. He isn't used to surprises—not pleasant ones, at least—appearing on his desk.

He doesn't have much time to consider his secret benefactor, although he savours the donut through the rest of the day. It somehow makes his workload seem more bearable, especially when he has to sit opposite Seungcheol and his insufferably smug grin the whole time.

Jihoon doesn’t know what Seungcheol’s got to be so happy about.

It’s not like anyone left _him_ a donut on his desk.

* * *

“Who owns this sandwich?” Jihoon asks aloud one day, when he discovers the chicken sub sitting on his desk. Seungcheol is out of the office, presumably fetching his own lunch, so it’s just him and Seungkwan, and Seungkwan just shrugs his shoulders, seemingly as clueless as he is.

“Yours, I guess—it _is_ sitting on your desk.”

Jihoon shakes his had sadly.

He wishes the sandwich were his, but he already ate his lunch; a crappy kale salad that’s barely worth remembering. He picked it up on his way to work, because Wednesday is his healthy day, and they were all out of tuna bowls at the Deli he favours, so he had to settle for kale.

He’d grumbled about it all morning, and even left a really harsh review on the Deli’s website, because Wednesday is _his_ healthy day goddammit, how hard is it to make a few extra tuna bowls especially for him? Had he known that a few hours later, the universe would conspire to leave a frankly delicious smelling chicken sub sandwich on his desk, he might not have been so quick to act. 

Or maybe it was the Deli owners? Maybe they read his review and felt terrible for ruining his lunch with their shitty kale salad bowls, and drove all the way across town to leave this mouthwatering sandwich on his desk when he wasn’t looking?

Sure, that seems a little farfetched, but also— _the only logical explanation_.

“If you don’t want it—I’ll have it.” Seungkwan pipes up, while Jihoon’s still busy pondering and trying to justify his reasons for eating the beautiful, mystery sandwich, forcing Jihoon to throw himself across the desk before Seungkwan can reach for it.

“No! It’s mine!”

* * *

Seungcheol’s learning a lot of things about Felids he never knew, all from studying Jihoon _not so_ secretly.

They’re neat, organised, borderline aggressive, punctual and a little obsessive compulsive over their possessions. It all makes for an adorable little package he can’t help but appreciate.

Jihoon keeps a tab of everything he owns with the use of a billion little stickers, everything from his stapler to his coffee mug is carefully marked. They’re especially possessive about their _food_ , and Seungcheol knows better than to try and interrupt Jihoon during his lunch again. The small scratch on his hand is hardly noticeable but it serves as a reminder; _Don’t touch Jihoon when he’s eating._

Seungcheol’s always been a sharer—it’s in his nature. Which is why there’s nothing strange about him picking up an extra sandwich or coffee or snack when he’s out of the office and leaving it on Jihoon’s desk when he’s not looking.

Okay—maybe it’s a _little_ strange that he does it for Jihoon and nobody else in the office, but that’s not the point. He doubts he’d get the same pleasure from watching anyone else react to his gifts like Jihoon does anyway.

And besides, Jihoon is significantly more agreeable when he’s had something nice to eat. If it’s a choice between paying extra for the specially cured meats at the deli and going across town to pick up the best donuts or a full day of sniping and scowling – well, Seungcheol is willing to part with the cash for Jihoon.

* * *

There’s another sandwich on his desk today. Roast beef this time.

Jihoon usually prefers chicken, but he’s not about to turn his nose up at a free sandwich gift. He glances around the room carefully before approaching the sandwich, then pokes it—in case it’s _explosive_.

It appears to be safe for consumption though, so he unwraps it and tucks in, deciding that roast beef is almost as good as chicken.

Soon enough, he notices Seungcheol is watching him from across the room, possibly envious— _no_ —just plain envious of his delicious roast beef sandwich. Jihoon glares at him as he eats, appropriately conveying the message: _this is my sandwich, get your own._

Seungcheol just smiles back and takes a bite of his own sandwich. He has a sandwich too—with the same translucent deli wrapper as Jihoon’s….

Oh.

Jihoon doesn’t want his sandwich anymore.

But it’s too late—he’s eaten it.

* * *

The next time Jihoon finds a sandwich on his desk, he doesn’t open it.

He’s had enough of this little game.

Instead, he stomps over to Seungcheol’s desk, wearing a neat little scowl he has spent ages perfecting, coupled with clenched fists and a pout. It is a look that says, very clearly, _"I am about to claw your eyes out"._

It has never backfired on him.

But instead of panicking, Seungcheol just watches his approach, his grin not losing an inch of swaggering ridiculous confidence.

Jihoon stops at the foot of his desk, points at him accusingly and says, “Why do you keep buying me secret lunch? Huh?”

Seungcheol eyebrows rise a fraction, innocent and wounded. “Because I like you.” He says simply.

“Oh.” Is what Jihoon says, instead of ‘ _fuck you’_ or ‘ _how dare you’_ or _‘you think you’re so funny—but you won’t be laughing with this hot coffee on your face’_ or any of the other hundred responses he’d planned, because he’d prepared himself for an argument, a fight, not— _that_.

He manages to wipe the shocked expression off his face to stammer back. “O-okay then. Keep—keep up the good work.”

Seungcheol’s answering smile is warm and soft. As is the look in his eyes, which sets off all kinds of reactions in Jihoon.

He ends up returning to his desk on shaky legs, knowing his face is flushed red right up to his ears, and he hates that, hates looking less _together_ than someone he is fighting with.

Even though that wasn’t a fight, exactly.

He ends up eating the sandwich—because it’s _there_. It’s on his desk, taking up space and the only way he’s getting rid of it is to eat it. 

He does not enjoy it. (It’s delicious.)

* * *

Bad enough that Seungcheol should know his condition just by sniffing him, that he continues to bait him with snacks and treats left on his desk, but when the Werewolf finds out about Jihoon's secret tail—Jihoon braces himself for the blackmailing of a lifetime.

It's a mistake, really, on Jihoon’s part.

One too many drinks at the office party means Jihoon doesn’t have the coordination to piss and keep his pants up at the same time. So when Seungcheol waltz’s into the bathroom when Jihoon’s just finishing up, the discovery of an extra, furred appendage where an appendage _shouldn't_ makes him quirk an eyebrow.

Jihoon hisses in surprise, scrambles to hide it and rushes away before Seungcheol can speak.

He leaves the office party early that night, and waits for the call, email, letter from Seungcheol that threatens to derail his career if he doesn’t comply with Seungcheol’s demands.

Surprisingly though, the blackmail never comes. There isn’t a peep out of Seungcheol for the rest of the weekend. Or anyone else for that matter, which suggests Seungcheol hasn’t spilt his little secret, presumably because Jihoon has sufficient material on Seungcheol as well?

Jihoon’s not sure, but he hates the uncertainty; wondering if anyone is looking at him differently when he enters the office, constantly checking his emails and phone for a damning message, always looking over his shoulder. It’s not fair that he has to feel this way—like he’s being backed into a corner over something he has no control over.

It’s impossible to let his guard down, because he’s certain Seungcheol is just waiting for the right opportunity to expose him. Or perhaps, just waiting for Jihoon to approach him first with some sort of conciliatory gesture to keep him quiet.

Neither of them are hurting for money, so Jihoon rules out the idea of giving him an envelope full of cash. But there is _one_ thing Seungcheol’s been angling for since the beginning, and Jihoon’s really the only one standing in his way.

The promotion.

Jihoon likes his job, and he works really hard, and he knows he deserves a promotion, but he doesn’t want to bet his little secret on ever getting it now.

* * *

Jihoon has a tail.

An elegantly thin, pretty, grey and black tabby tail, dotted with small flecks of white. Seungcheol saw it in the bathroom right before the guy hissed at him and skedaddled.

Seungcheol still doesn’t know why he did that. It’s not like he has anything to be ashamed of.

So what if he has a tail? Seungcheol has one too, except he never really sees his unless he’s wolfed out, so he was understandably a little startled to see Jihoon’s tail just _chillin_ out of his pants when he was unshifted.

Jihoon’s done a fine job of keeping that little secret hidden for so long.

Seungcheol wonders how uncomfortable it must be keeping it tucked away; he knows how irritating it is to keep his ears smoothed back and out of sight, and he imagines it’s even more awkward to hide a tail down your pants all day.

Seungcheol’s doesn’t think too much of their altercation in the bathroom that weekend, but when he arrives to work on Monday to find out Jihoon has withdrawn his request for the promotion, he immediately _knows_ it’s because of the tail incident.

Jihoon’s clearly worried Seungcheol’s going to divulge his little secret, use the tail against him for his own nefarious gain—which is just plain insulting when he thinks about it. But it’s the only logical explanation for the withdrawal, _and_ for the sudden shift in Jihoon’s attitude towards him. The kitten is minimally responsive to his barbs all day, quiet and sullen, keeping his head down at his desk and avoiding eye contact.

When this behaviour rolls on into the next day, Seungcheol takes matters into his own hands and as the office clears for lunch, corners Jihoon by his desk before he can flee.

“Re-apply for the position.” He says, fixing Jihoon with a pointed look.

Jihoon blinks at him, “What?”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenches, “You withdrew yourself for the promotion—I want you to re-apply.”

Jihoon pinches the bridge of his nose, mouth set in a thin, unhappy line. “I _can’t_. I don’t want....Why do you care anyway?”

Seungcheol rakes a hand through his hair. “This is about your tail isn’t it?” He says, his voice regaining a measure of patience. “You think I’m going to use that against you? _Really_? Do you really think so little of me?”

Jihoon shrugs, “It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s used what they know about me, against me. I’ve worked really hard to get here, I didn’t want to lose my job.” His voice has changed, gone soft and terrified. 

Maybe that’s what makes Seungcheol take Jihoon’s hand, bring it up to his hair to touch one of his wolf ears he keeps tucked under his slicked back hair.

He means it as a gesture of trust. He means it as proof to himself, to Jihoon, that he doesn’t have to be afraid, and that they may be different species but essentially they’re going through the same struggles. He doesn’t mean for it to send a burst of warmth all the way down his spine to his dick, which aches and twitches in his pants.

“Oh my god.” Jihoon gasps, fingers brushing over the dense fur of the ear, scratching gently. “How...how do you keep them hidden so well?”

“I wanted to ask you the same about your lovely tail.” Seungcheol huffs a soft laugh at his shocked expression. “See—I know what it’s like Jihoon. And even if I _didn’t_ , I wouldn’t do that to you.”

When Jihoon’s hand stills, his eyes come to level with Seungcheol’s again, knowing.

“Thank you, Seungcheol.” he says, cheeks flushing. Then his voice does something Seungcheol has never heard before: it dips low and goes soft and kind of shy. “I’m sorry I haven’t been very nice to you. I didn’t mean to be like that, I’ve just had to be so careful my whole life, it’s hard to trust anyone again.”

Seungcheol jerks his chin up, “You don’t have anything to apologise Jihoon, I completely understand. Just re-apply for the position. Okay.” He says firmly.

Jihoon pouts. Just a little. Then he nods.

“Okay.”

* * *

After that, they settle into an arrangement that’s both reasonably productive and tolerably civil.

They still argue, of course. Newfound trust and respect aside, Jihoon is a man of very strong opinions, many of which happen to be completely wrong, and so they fight it out over everything from past cases, to the promotion, to new legislation and the ethics of cross examining children in court – and once, heatedly, the best spread to have in a roast beef sandwich.

Jihoon is still wound up about that one the next day, until finally Seungcheol can’t stand all the glowering and resorts to buying the sulky shit’s forgiveness with a foot-long chicken teriyaki sub and a package of multicoloured Sharpie’s.

“To replace the ones you accidentally through out the window when you were aiming for my head,” he explains.

“You’re still wrong,” Jihoon says, but he’s smiling magnificently, and he makes good use of Seungcheol’s gift fifteen seconds later when Seungkwan ignores his emphatic suggestion to quit snickering at them and mind his own fucking business.

* * *

For once, Jihoon’s pleased to have been proven wrong about something; Seungcheol actually turns out to be a really nice guy.

They don’t become super chummy over their shared ability, of course.

Far from it.

Jihoon still doesn’t like talking about his ‘gift’, as Seungcheol puts it, but he finds that he’s completely at ease in Seungcheol’s company.

Well, maybe not _completely_.

There’s a giddy, tense buzzing sensation just under his skin that leaves him hyper aware of every move and sound that Seungcheol makes. But for the first time in a long time, Jihoon isn’t in a rush to leave his space and flee. And although he has no real idea where this blossoming friendship with Seungcheol is going to lead, he’s certainly excited to find out.

* * *

Today Seungcheol picks up an extra coffee on his way back from lunch; two shots, no milk, no sugar—just how he’s seen Jihoon take it.

When Jihoon returns to his desk and finds the coffee, he does his customary petulant glare in Seungcheol’s direction before picking it up. 

Absorbed in his work, Jihoon sips distractedly at his coffee and pulls a face. It’s there and gone, a momentary grimace of distaste – the kind of look normally inspired by some of Seungcheol’s more opinionated opinions—but it’s enough for Seungcheol to be struck by a sudden flash of insight.

Jihoon doesn’t like black coffee.

It could be something else, of course. Perhaps the coffee is too cold, or the wrong blend, or brewed too strong. All equally possible explanations, but Seungcheol knows that he’s right, instinctively.

Jihoon doesn’t like black coffee, and yet he drinks it by the litre. Always has done, as long as Seungcheol has known him. Probably he avoids adding milk or creamer so nobody could accuse him of being a giant shape shifting cat, and now he’s either grown used to it or thinks it makes him look tough or something. But the adorable little bastard doesn’t even _like_ it.

Seungcheol doesn’t realize he’s staring until Jihoon shoots him a curious look and asks, “What?”

“You,” Seungcheol says pointing, “—are a ridiculous little man.”

Jihoon gasps, then pointedly turns away to shuffle noisily through his folders in a way that is no doubt meant to indicate how very little time he has for Seungcheol’s bullshit. He’s flushing bright red too, from either embarrassment or irritation, or possibly from a lifetime’s worth of pent-up coffee-related disgruntlement.

“ _Ridiculous_ ,” Seungcheol mutters under his breath, and goes to fetch his coat.

* * *

“What’s this?” Jihoon says mildly, eyeing the single shot, chocolate and hazelnut Frappuccino with extra whipped cream _abomination_ Seungcheol has deposited on his desk.

“Your coffee. You’re welcome.” Seungcheol says.

Jihoon's eyebrows do something complicated, but eventually settle down into deeply distrustful territory.

“But you already bought me coffee.” He says, gesturing at the old cup sitting on his desk, still half full.

“That’s before I realised you don’t actually like it black,” Seungcheol says. He grabs the old cup and promptly dumps it in the trash, then pushes the new cup towards Jihoon “Just drink it Jihoonie. Nobody is going to get suspicious just because you have a little whipped cream in your coffee.”

Jihoon still looks wary, but he obediently raises the cup for a cautious taste, eyes closing briefly as he considers.

“Well?” Seungcheol prompts.

“Bleh. This is disgusting,” Jihoon says. He takes another sip, though, and the flash of a pink tongue darting out to lick the cream tells Seungcheol all he needs to know.

* * *

“Congratulations on the promotion Sehun, you must be pleased.” Seungkwan chirps, when said man passes by outside their office, lugging a box of his office supplies. 

Sehun pauses at the door, grinning sheepishly.

“Thanks. Uh, honestly, I’m still a little shocked I got it. I put my name forward last minute, and I know there were a shit ton of more experienced candidates applying too. Like Jihoon for instance.” He laughs, nodding at Jihoon. “If anyone should have got it, it probably should have been you. You sure harped on about it enough. But hey—maybe next year.”

Jihoon offers him a tight, insincere smile in return, then very politely side steps the offer to join Sehun and the rest of the office for a round of celebratory drinks after work.

It’s not that he’s harbouring any resentment because he didn’t get the job, (okay, maybe he is) it’s more that he’s a little suspect that Sehun _did_.

Or to be more precise, that Sehun did and that Seungcheol _didn’t_.

Jihoon knows his own story, knows he bombed the interview, was so nervous he ended up fidgeting and stammering and woefully underplaying his contributions to the firm. But Seungcheol? Charming, brilliant, talented... wildly overconfident, could sell a map to a salmon Seungcheol. There’s no way he could have fucked up his interview, so how come he was overlooked?

If anyone deserved that promotion, it should have been him.

Speaking of Seungcheol—where the _hell_ is he?

It’s almost lunch time.

Jihoon might literally starve to death if he doesn’t show up with his daily offering soon.

“He turned it down you know.”

“Huh?” Jihoon blinks, coming back to the present, to reality, to find Seungkwan standing at the side of his desk, his jacket folded over his arm.

“ _Seungcheol_.” Seungkwan says pointedly, mouth twitching into a small smile. “He got offered the job first, but he turned it down. That’s why they offered it to Sehun. I overheard the senior partners talking about it when I went up to get some documents signed.”

Jihoon narrows his eyes at Seungkwan a little, wondering if he should challenge the validity of that information, wondering even more why Seungkwan’s decided to share it with him all of a sudden. It doesn't seem like Seungkwan has ulterior motives, but the guy sure loves to gossip, and the last thing Jihoon wants to do is _encourage_ him. 

Nevertheless, he’s too curious to just brush that aside.

“Why would Seungcheol do that? Did you know his reasons?”

Seungkwan shrugs, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he makes his way towards the door.

“Beats me. Maybe he just enjoys the view here.”

* * *

Seungcheol’s doesn’t know why he picked this bar out of all the other clubs in the city. It’s not close to work, it’s nowhere near home, and it’s not the spot the rest of the office have chosen to celebrate Sehun’s promotion, so there’s no sensible reason to find himself here, pushing through a throng of gyrating bodies that collide with him no matter how hard he tries to avoid them.

It’s not until he shoves his way off of the dance floor that he realises why his wolfy instincts were guiding him _here_. _This_ club. Tonight. 

Jihoon is hunched over the end of a bar, still dressed in his work suit, nursing a glass of something with too much ice. Seungcheol can't really see his face, but he doesn’t have to see to know it’s him. His scent is more than familiar by now, light and sweet and eclipsing all the other scents in the room.

Seungcheol circles the bar like it’s a parking lot until he finally finds an opening a good distance away, settles on a stool, orders a scotch and pays for it. The bartender smiles at the large tip. It seems a good idea to keep the guy happy; Seungcheol plans on being here for as long as it takes.

A female shifter with brilliant auburn hair asks him to dance. When she speaks, light reflects off the gold stud in her tongue, and the piercing gives her a slight lisp. She’s a Fox species Seungcheol has some familiarity with, one of those more sociable types of shifter he _should_ be trying it on with. Nevertheless, Seungcheol politely declines her offer—he doesn’t want to discourage the little kitten across the bar from approaching him.

It’s not long after that when Jihoon finally notices him. Seungcheol’s not looking his way exactly, but he detects the sharp change in Jihoon’s scent that spells surprise, and when he hazards a glance, he finds Jihoon peeking over at him, trying to be discreet. If he were in cat-form, he'd have perked his ears up, Seungcheol can almost see it.

Of course Jihoon can’t make it easy on himself though. Instead of picking up his drink and sauntering over, as any other person would, Jihoon has to be all _stealthy kitten_ about it. He approaches slowly, one bar stool at a time, only moving closer when Seungcheol’s not looking his way.

It’s adorable how shy he is, like he’s coming over to greet a complete stranger instead of the guy he shares an office with 261 days in the year. It’s so adorable in fact Seungcheol’s really struggling to suppress a grin as Jihoon finally slips into the barstool next to his with a quiet, “Hi.”

Seungcheol turns towards him immediately, rewarding his bravery with a wide smile, “Hello Jihoon, fancy seeing you here.”

Jihoon takes a sip of his drink and fidgets nervously, twirling a strand of hair around his finger. “I thought maybe you’d be out with everyone else, celebrating Sehun’s promotion.”

Seungcheol tips his head, adopting a thoughtful look, “It was tempting, but I guess I wanted to find somewhere nobody knows me.”

Jihoon obviously misinterprets that as a suggestion to leave him alone, and Seungcheol has to quickly set a hand on his knee to stop him from retreating. Possibly _also_ one stool at a time.

“So why aren’t _you_ out drinking with the others?” He cuts in, quickly, patting Jihoon on the knee with a _sit—stay_ gesture. 

A tiny muscle in Jihoon's jaw flexes a little, but his answer is almost immediate. “I don’t like Sehun. He’s a jerk.”

“Okay, fair enough.” Seungcheol snorts, almost choking on his next sip.

He’s always found Jihoon’s brand of honesty kind of refreshing; he doesn’t pretend to get along with people he doesn’t like, he either tolerates someone or openly despises them, there is no in-between. Seungcheol’s always figured he belonged in the latter category of Jihoon’s acquaintances, but recently he’s beginning to believe Jihoon actually enjoys his company.

Maybe?

There’s a lot less scowling aimed his way at least, and after Seungcheol left a box of chocolates on his desk the other week, there was a definite sighting of dimples. 

After a moment of companionable silence, Seungcheol notices Jihoon throwing him little anxious glances out of the corner of his eye, like he’s hesitating on the edge of a question, working up the courage to say something. When Seungcheol quirks a wordless eyebrow at him, it becomes too much apparently, and he just blurts out. 

“Why’d you turn down the promotion?”

Laughing, Seungcheol rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly. He doesn’t know how Jihoon found out, but he can guess. Gossip tends to spread like wildfire in the office, and he can’t expect the senior partners to keep it all hush-hush when we wasn’t very forthcoming with his reasons for turning the job down.

He’ll have to be even _less_ honest with Jihoon, because he can't very well say _I wanted to stay close to you._

“Oh, lots of reasons. But mainly, I couldn’t be bothered relocating to a new office. I hate packing.”

Jihoon must intuit his real reasons anyway, because the Kitten blushes deeply, fidgets more restlessly in his seat, but he can’t quite bring himself to look away.

“That’s—that’s stupid.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. “Guess I’m stupid.”

Jihoon frowns for a moment. “You are. You’re stupid.”

Seungcheol smiles at him and raises his glass. “Here’s to my stupidity. Sorry, but you’re going to have to put up with it for at least another year.”

Jihoon returns the smile then, a little bashful, a little relieved, and chinks his glass against Seungcheol’s.

Seungcheol smiles even more broadly, and they both take a drink. When they set their glasses down again, Jihoon’s is notably empty.

“Can I buy you another?” Seungcheol asks, gesturing at the tumbler between them.

“No—I shouldn’t.” Jihoon murmurs, pushing the glass away, “I’m, I’m trying to be careful. It’s a public place.”

Nodding, Seungcheol drains the rest of his drink quickly.

“Okay then, what if we got out of here and I got you some dinner instead? I know this great place not far from here that does these _amazing_ lamb skewers.”

Jihoon, who’s busy toying with the edge of a coaster, noticeably perks up at the mention of food. For all his adorable fussiness, he’s surprisingly easy to please.

“They do chicken skewers too.” Seungcheol adds, just to sweeten the deal. “Whaddya say? A little chicken for the little kitten?”

Jihoon’s lips quirk into a little smile. “Fine. But just a _little_ one.”

* * *

The second time Seungcheol finds himself sharing a hotel room with his temperamental feline friend is a far cry from their first attempt.

It’s a blizzard that hampers their travel plans this time, blocking the route on their journey back from weekend long team-building event and forcing them to abandon their hire car to seek shelter in a nearby B+B.

Unfortunately, every other motorist on that stretch of highway seems to have gotten the same bright idea and have beaten them to the punch, so there are only _two_ rooms available. Which wouldn’t have been a problem if _Seungkwan_ hadn’t also been travelling with them.

There isn’t another place for miles, and since none of them relish the thought of sleeping in the freezing cold car, it boils down to three grown men arguing over who shares a small double bed. Except it isn’t much of an argument because Seungkwan simply divides a look between them and says, “I expect you guys will want to share, right?” Then picks up a set of keys and disappears up the narrow flight of stairs before either of them can protest.

Seungcheol turns towards Jihoon, expecting him to look furious at Seungkwan’s not so subtle insinuation, only to find the kitten smiling up at him expectantly.

“You don’t mind sharing with me, do you?”

“Of course not.” Seungcheol says, managing to replace his look of shock with something more pleasant. If pressed, he was ready to say it’s more practical for them to room together, to keep Seungkwan from catching a glimpse of something he wasn’t meant to. But it doesn’t seem like Jihoon needs any encouragement, he just fishes out a pen and signs their names into the register.

Swiping the second set of keys of the counter, Seungcheol leads the way upstairs to their room, pausing briefly on the landing to glance outside the large turret window. Any reservations he has about deserting the car drift away as he stares at the sheer amount of snow building outside; the lawn is a complete whiteout, as is the road and the field beyond that. Even if that overturned car hadn’t been blocking the road, they wouldn’t have made it very far in a sedan.

When he reaches the room, he lets himself inside quickly, holding the door wide open for Jihoon before he can catch a glimpse of the sign that reads _Honeymoon suite._

Thankfully, Jihoon seems none the wiser as he steps inside and sets his bag down, surveying the space with…slowly widening eyes?

“Wow—this is, uhm, really _nice_.”

Blinking, Seungcheol takes a moment to survey the room himself and— _cringes_.

It’s a spacious, yet still inexplicably _cozy_ room, flanked on one end by one of those faux electric fireplaces, and the other by a large four-poster canopy bed. The décor is uhm…it’s _nice_ , although Seungcheol could’ve done without all the flowers and ruffles and candles—and there’s certainly no need for the origami swan towel folds or the giant ‘Love is in the air’ decal plastered over the bed. The in-your-face romantic aesthetic is somehow serving to only make him more uneasy, like the room itself is saying _‘Please have sex here tonight. You know you wanna_ :))’

It probably doesn’t help his nerves any that there isn’t a couch in here either, only a velvet lined armchair or the floor, neither of which appeal to Seungcheol after a tedious, seven-hour drive. But before he can even begin to start snooping around for extra blankets and pillows, Jihoon throws back the covers on the bed and announces, “I think the bed’s big enough for both of us.”

Seungcheol double takes so fast he almost gives himself whiplash, because that was the last thing he expected Jihoon to say. He would find it a charming overture of friendship, of trust, except for the blush that creeps into Jihoon’s cheeks a moment later. The sight of it so unexpected that Seungcheol almost laughs, and then stops for fear of embarrassing Jihoon and ruining the whole tentative gesture.

“Really? You don’t mind?”

Jihoon shakes his head and then hops onto the bed to kick off his shoes, “It’s not fair for you to sleep on the floor after you’ve been driving all day, and _I_ certainly don’t want to sleep on the floor. Besides, it’s obvious Seungkwan’s already formed an opinion about us, and he’s probably going to tell everyone who’ll listen that we fucked tonight whether we share the bed or not. So I figure we might as well _both_ be comfortable tonight and just do it, you know.”

Seungcheol feels his eyebrows ticking upwards in surprised interest, before the less horny, more sensible part of his brain points out that the ‘just do it’ is probably in reference to the bed sharing thing, and not in fact an invitation to whip his dick out. 

“Right—that makes sense.”

Jihoon smiles up at him timidly, then disappears into the bathroom, clutching his small overnight bag. He takes his sweet time of course, long enough that Seungcheol almost dozes off in front of the fireplace, but when he returns there isn’t a bath robe in sight.

Not a single one.

All Jihoon’s wearing is a loose threadbare t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts so tiny they could be considered a _belt_.

Seungcheol is very grateful the other man is forced to turn away to hang up his clothes, or he would've gotten a good look at how Seungcheol’s wolf ears perk up at the sight of Jihoon’s tail swinging freely behind him, inviting his eyes to travel up those slender legs towards his pert little—

“Sorry I took so long. Bathroom’s all yours now.” Jihoon speaks over his shoulder, completely oblivious to the way Seungcheol’s just standing there, staring at his peachy butt.

Seungcheol’s tongue manages to recover just enough function for him to say, "Great—thanks," before he purposefully shifts his attention to the far safer object of his leather, travelling case.

He spends a little longer than necessary in the bathroom, changing his clothes and brushing his teeth and then giving his dick a stern but silent talking to, warning it to _behave_ itself. When he emerges, he finds Jihoon waiting anxiously by the bed, looking for all the world like he’s struggling with a bad case of Wedding Night Jitters.

Seungcheol’s relieved he’s not the only one.

“So—” Jihoon begins, clearly exerting the effort to be casual, “Which side do you prefer?”

“I don’t mind. You can pick.” Seungcheol says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Jihoon echoes his indecisiveness with a shrug, so they end up just staring at each other wordlessly for an age. The silence stretches on until it skips awkward altogether and lands on torturous. It lasts and lasts while they both stand totally rigid and unmoving, both too polite to make the first move and pick a side.

Then, just as Seungcheol’s beginning to wonder if he can sleep standing up, the room falls into complete darkness as the power goes out.

Seungcheol can still see perfectly well of course, but he suspects Jihoon’s eyes are not adjusting as quickly, because the man startles and bolts forward, running right into him and letting out a frightened _mew_.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” Seungcheol reaches out to him, snakes his arms around his waist, tugs him close to soothe him, “It’s just a power outage. The blizzard must have knocked out a powerline. That’s all.”

Jihoon snaps rigid in his arms for all of half a moment, before he relaxes infinitesimally.

“I know, I just—" He cuts himself off, puffing out exasperated huff. “Sorry. It always freaks me out when my night vision sets in—everything looks so different all of a sudden, it’s kind of scary.”

Seungcheol nods sympathetically, before realizing Jihoon can’t see him. His eyes are darting back and forth, and he’s blinking far too rapidly—obviously too unaccustomed with his night vision for it to actually be of any use to him now.

Which is probably for the best; the sight of Seungcheol’s red glowing eyes staring back would likely _not_ be a comforting sight.

“It’s okay, I understand.” Seungcheol murmurs, rubbing a soothing hand between Jihoon’s shoulder blades, “C’mon, let’s get you into bed.”

Jihoon’s soft little sigh of relief causes something tight and anxious inside of Seungcheol to uncoil, too, enough that he’s momentarily distracted, enough to forget his worries about the sleeping arrangements.

It’s only after he guides Jihoon under the covers and moves to climb in after him that he has a moment of sheer panic where he second-guesses every single life choice he has ever made and especially _this_ one. But then Jihoon wriggles a little towards the opposite side of the bed and lifts the covers a little, and Seungcheol realizes he’s making room for him, and he thinks, oh, and scoots in towards Jihoon a little.

They fall asleep like that, not quite touching, but not too far apart, either.

* * *

In the morning, Seungcheol awakens to Jihoon’s soft snoring and a warm circle of heat around his wrist. It takes him a moment to recognize the unfamiliar surroundings of their hotel room in the morning sunshine, then a moment longer to realise Jihoon’s tail has drifted across the space between them to curl around his arm.

“Hello.” Seungcheol whispers, lifting his free hand to tickle the length of fur tapping a gentle rhythm over his wrist. The tail curls, squeezing gently, as if happy to be caressed before resuming its gentle flicking motion over the flat of his palm.

With a quick check to confirm Jihoon’s still fast asleep, Seungcheol gives the tail a little scratch, then a gentle pat, then feeling a little bolder, curls his fist around the portion not twined around his arm and gives it a nice, good stroke. And wow, Jihoon’s tail _really_ loves that—Seungcheol can feel it trembling around his arm as it slowly uncurls, then before he knows what’s happening, it’s pushing itself into his hands, the tail equivalent of _‘Hi, that was really nice. Please pet me again’_

Seungcheol’s more than happy to oblige it, and spends a while just stroking it softly, marvelling at the silky soft fur gliding under his fingertips. That is until someone clears their throat— _pointedly_.

Stiffening, Seungcheol jerks his head up and finds Jihoon watching him over his shoulder, brows pinched fiercely.

“Woah, hey—” Seungcheol interjects quickly, holding up a hand in capitulation. “Before you get shirty with me, you should know your tail started it. When I woke up it was all curled around my arm, I only petted it because it seemed to want it.”

Expression smoothing into something less irritated, Jihoon reaches over to uncurl his willful little tail from Seungcheol’s arm, where it has resumed its twitching and squeezing, demanding more pets. 

“Sorry,” Jihoon grumbles, pushing the covers back as he sits up. “It develops a mind of its own when I’m sleeping. Payback for keeping it confined all day I guess.”

Seungcheol chuckles, sagging against the pillows. “I can’t imagine how uncomfortable that must be. I mean, keeping my hair this long to hide my ears is pretty inconvenient, but it’s not actually uncomfortable.”

“I’m used to it.” Jihoon murmurs a bit sulkily, cradling the tail protectively in his lap. “And the discomfort is a small price to pay for being allowed to keep it.”

Seungcheol starts a little at that, rising on one elbow. Upon seeing his confusion, Jihoon carefully elaborates.

“My parents wanted to have it surgically removed when I was younger, but I managed to talk them out of it in the end, promised to keep it hidden. Good thing too, seeing as they were too freaked out to bring me to a doctor and were actually planning on some kind of crude home surgery. That would have been messy.”

Jihoon’s smiling as he says it, like it’s funny anecdote—old news and water under the bridge, like he isn’t talking about how his own parents nearly _mutilated_ him. And that’s exactly what it would have been—mutilation—as bad as cutting off someone’s nose or gouging out their eye. That tail is a part of Jihoon and always will be, and cutting it off would have resulted in a lifetime of agony and health complications and for what? Appearances sake?

It’s a cruelty that doesn’t bear thinking of.

“Your parents wanted to cut off your _tail_?” Seungcheol demands incredulously, unable to wrap his head around the fact.

Jihoon shakes his head empathically, like Seungcheol’s getting it all wrong.

“I don’t think they realised it had a blood supply, that it was a part of me. They didn’t know anything about shifters back then, so they didn’t really see it as another limb, just some weird mutation that was going to ruin my life if they didn’t do something about it. They’re much more accepting now—well—as accepting as normal people can be about something they don’t understand.”

Seungcheol’s mind softens at the self-conscious expression that crosses Jihoon’s face.

He can’t imagine what Jihoon must have gone through growing up—being raised by people who didn’t understand what you were, thinking there was something wrong with you. He’s never had to face that—he’s only ever known acceptance. He comes from a huge family of shifters, a pure-bred line of werewolves dating back hundreds of years. Even his hometown was werewolf central—so everyone he knew growing up was just like him until he was old enough to realise there were other kinds of people out there, people who just weren’t as special. Hiding your unique traits was just part of what they did to survive, but he was never made to feel like there was something _wrong_ with him.

He was never made to feel like a _freak_.

“Listen to me Jihoon.” Seungcheol hears himself say, reaching out to stroke down the ringed tabby fur reverentially. “There’s nothing wrong with you, or your tail. It’s beautiful.”

Jihoon’s flinches a little—whether it’s at the contact or the compliment, it’s hard to say, but Seungcheol gets the feeling that both are equally new experiences. 

* * *

It’s just the two of them in the office tonight. It’s been just the two of them every night this past week actually, because Jihoon has one of the firm’s most demanding clients breathing down his neck, and Seungcheol is….

 _Well_ —Jihoon’s not entirely sure what Seungcheol’s been working on this past month, but whatever it is, it has been keeping him in the office well past sociable hours.

He seems to be the only one who works as late as Jihoon, the only other person with a shitty ratio between his hours on and off the clock, and sometimes Jihoon wonders if it’s simply because Seungcheol’s so dedicated to his job as a junior associate, or if it’s because he shares the same reasons as Jihoon.

That he likes the _company_.

Loath as he is to admit it, Jihoon accepts that most of the times he stays late is because he has _chosen_ to. He could easily continue his work from home, but the truth is, he _needs_ this. This easy, companionable quiet is a hundred times better than the silence and loneliness of Jihoon's apartment.

At least here, he has someone to eat his dinner with, someone to talk to, someone to touch his arm and wish him an honest goodnight. It might not seem like much, but as a guy who’s been too terrified of letting anyone into his life, it’s nice that he has this time with Seungcheol.

Even if it’s just Seungcheol, sitting in his shirtsleeves, typing and frowning and occasionally drinking from the cold coffee mug on his desk.

“Think I better call it a night. You?”

The question startles Jihoon out of his thoughts, with a jolt so intense he nearly falls from his chair.

He hadn’t intended to slide so far into his musings as to forget his surroundings, not to mention the work before him. His laptop screen has gone dark and his highlighter is poised motionless above the brief he’s in the process of tearing to pieces. But when he glances up, he realizes how long he’s been distracted—the clock on the wall reads 11:15 and Seungcheol’s already clearing his desk and shutting down his computer.

“N-no, I’m going to stay on a while longer.” Jihoon manages a wry smile, scrambling to cap his highlighter. “Have a nice weekend. Guess I’ll see you on Monday?”

“Oh, uh—no.” Seungcheol says, sounding tired and resigned as he stands up, “I won’t be here.”

Which is…okay. It’s fine. There’s probably a good explanation for that. Maybe Seungcheol’s case is going to court next week, or maybe he’ll be working directly with a client, and he won’t have time to stop by the office. It happens sometimes—there’s absolutely no cause for Jihoon to freak out about it, for him to dig his nails into the desk and whine, “Why? Where are you going?”

Seungcheol, who’s in the middle of tugging on his jacket, visibly startles. So much so, his wolf ears perk up, poking out through his hair.

“I’m on vacation next week Jihoonie. Remember?”

Jihoon stares at him wide eyed for moment, before the embarrassment of his unplanned hissy fit catches up with him, and he ducks his head, “Oh, oh right. Of course. Uhm—doing anything nice?”

Seungcheol answering smile isn’t immediate. It forms slowly, in amused little twitches, until he’s grinning at Jihoon, all sweet and lopsided.

“Not really. Just heading home for a family reunion. I’m not all that keen about it if I’m being honest; my family – they’re like the postcard for awkward reunions, but unfortunately this reunion is long overdue, and I’m kind of duty bound to attend.”

Jihoon nods, keeping his gaze cast low. He returns his attention to his work for a moment, picks up his highlighter, before Seungcheol’s words catch up with him. “Is that like a pack thing?”

Seungcheol just stares at him implacably, forcing Jihoon to elaborate.

“There’s a full moon next week; by family reunion I thought maybe it was something to do with your _pack_. You know, where you guys run around in the forest and do—" He doesn't know what to call Seungcheol's lunar excursions, so he settles for a handwave _. “Wolfy things.”_

Honestly, Jihoon has no idea why he’s opening this thread of conversation when he knows so little about Seungcheol’s species. Hell, he knows even less about his _own_ species. But he’s determined to talk about it tonight for some reason, and continues, undeterred, gathering momentum and losing syntax as he goes.

“I—I heard some shifters do that. Frolicking in the forest during a full moon and doing stuff. I’m not entirely sure what _kind_ of stuff, but I know it’s a thing that happens, some kind of tradition. I’m pretty sure I read it in a blog once.”

Seungcheol’s mouth makes an O shape of realization, “Oh, oh _that_.” He begins, then chuckles. “Nah, that’s—that’s not what I’m going to be doing. This really is just a family reunion. It’s my parent’s wedding anniversary and they want the whole family there. That’s all.”

“Oh, okay.” Jihoon breathes a sigh, relieved he hasn’t inadvertently offended Seungcheol in some way. “That’s cool. Send my regards.”

There is a silence that stretches out just a few seconds too long, and then Seungcheol speaks again. 

“I could take you there, if you wanted.”

It’s a casual statement, but Seungcheol's voice is low and charged, and Jihoon can’t help but blink at him, befuddled.

“To meet your _family_?”

Seungcheol barks out a laugh. “No, no, I mean—to the forest? Where all the shifters go? It’s not that far from here actually, and it’s not a forest per se—It’s more of a _nature reserve_. The man who owns the land is a Werewolf too, but he opens his doors to all kinds of shifters. Though you can only get in by invitation from someone who already has access. You know, to keep it safe from the outside world.”

Jihoon can feel his mouth forming a ‘oh’, though no words actually make it out.

“I go there sometimes, when I need it.” Seungcheol continues, setting his briefcase upright on the desk, pausing to make direct eye contact with Jihoon. “I’d be happy to take you with me, if you needed a little _roam_.”

Jihoon laughs bitterly without meaning to. “W-why would I want to do that?”

Seungcheol makes a face, not exactly an offended one, but close.

“Cause it’s _fun_? I mean, yeah, you could just shift in the privacy of your own home and chill out in front of the TV, but doesn’t that get a little old after a while? I don’t know about you, but I certainly need more room to stretch my legs, and running around in the wilderness all furred out is a pretty freeing experience. It’s a great way to let off some steam without worrying whether someone will mistake you for a wild animal and take a shot at you.”

Jihoon’s not sure what shocks him more, Seungcheol’s offer, or the knowledge that there really is a community of shifters out there who do this sort of frolicking through the woods, howling at the moon thing on a regular basis. That it’s happening practically on his doorstep. 

He doesn’t know how to explain that he’s never shifted before. Not ever. That he doesn’t even know where to begin, or what he would look like. A cat—obviously. But what _kind_ of cat?

Would he turn into one of those furry freaks from _Cats_! The musical, or would he shift into a regular, run of the mill cat, no more than a foot tall. Either way, he can’t imagine sitting very high on the food chain. He’s probably considered prey to most other shifters, and a lunar excursion would mean him having to find a place to hide so he doesn’t get eaten or trampled on. Unless….

Unless he stays close to _Seungcheol_.

If Seungcheol’s kind enough to make such an offer in the first place, maybe he would be kind enough to let Jihoon ‘frolic’ with him? Sure, Jihoon would struggle to keep up with a wolf, but Seungcheol might let him hitch a ride on his back—

Jihoon cuts that thought off at the knees.

As exciting as that prospect is, he isn't quite ready to face the truth about that side of himself just yet. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He swallows, looking up at Seungcheol. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m….I can’t.”

There is a hot flare of concern in Seungcheol’s eyes, before Jihoon drops his gaze again in embarrassment.

“Well—the offer’s still there.” Seungcheol says the words lightly as he collects his briefcase, smooth enough to mask the undercurrent of sincere concern flowing beneath. “If you change your mind, I can take you.”

Seungcheol pauses at Jihoon’s desk, ostensibly to adjust his own coat, but Jihoon gets the impression that he wants to say something else. That he would say something if only Jihoon could bring himself to look him in the eye again.

Then a moment passes and Seungcheol is patting him on the back and making his way towards the door.

* * *

Hiding his tail and limiting his dairy produce consumption isn't the hardest thing Jihoon has to deal with as a shifter. No, there are more difficult obstacles in his life. Although Jihoon is certain this particular one, at least, is a secret Seungcheol has no knowledge of.

 _Heat_.

It's a damnable Felid mating habit that makes him loathe his own traitorous body.

It starts like an itch, prickling, spreading over his body, until he feels like a physical inferno incarnate, moist and hot all over. No amount of friction seems to soothe his skin. No ice can settle the burn. His senses become heightened too; colours become hypersaturated, everything smells more intense, feels _unbearable_ to touch—to the point that even the softest of silks chafe like sandpaper against his skin. 

It hits him once every three months, and _when_ it hits he’s unable to keep his mind on his work, unable to think about _anything_ except the urge to scratch the intolerable itch—to _mate_.

That’s what the blog posts he read told him anyway; sex ed for shifters is unsurprisingly _vague_. In a perfect world, a shifter would find one of his kind, track their scent for miles if they had to, and ‘mate’ with them. Again and again, until their sexual appetite is satisfied. But this isn’t a perfect world, and there are no others of Jihoon's kind—male _or_ female—that he knows of, and so he normally ends up spread out on his bed with an assortment of toys, fucking himself with an increasingly large dildo each night.

It’s never really satisfying but Jihoon has to work with what he has, and he’d read somewhere that an orgasm takes the edge off and makes heat pass faster. The jury’s still out on that because his heats seem to last a solid week regardless of how many times he can make himself come.

Normally Jihoon can plan for it, book holiday or call in sick and seclude himself for the week-or-so that it lasts. But when he feels the first heat flushes this time round, he’s still in the middle of a case, a class action lawsuit that will be nearly impossible to win, and dipping out now could seriously undermine his reputation in the firm.

Desperately, he weighs his options.

He’s working with a small team, just him and Seungkwan and Jisoo, and they're on a tight deadline so he can't afford to be distracted; the case _depends_ on his contribution. Thankfully, Seungcheol’s off work all week on vacation, so the office will be free of anyone who could notice something amiss.

 _Seungcheol would keep working, in my place_ , Jihoon thinks, slightly more resentful than is becoming. Of course, Seungcheol doesn't have to account for the same details that Jihoon must; and therein lies the resentment.

So, Jihoon decides to continue working, certain he can manage.

He sheds his jacket, rolls up his sleeves, and literally sweats through the first day—gritting his teeth and trying not to bite Seungkwan's head off when he asks for his opinion on a few details. Then later that night, he goes back to his home, strips out of his clothes and jumps in the shower, sets the water to freezing as he fingers himself, trying desperately to wash away the burning, prickling, itching sensation that torments his body inside and out. He finally finds release with two fingers deep in his ass, but the relief lasts only a handful of seconds.

And the fever—God, the fever isn't quenched at _all_.

This horrendous routine continues for another three days, and Jihoon’s _still_ in agony by the end of it. For the first time in his adult Felid life, masturbating hasn’t offered him an ounce of relief and he can’t understand why.

Why has his heat become more unbearable that it has ever been before?

What’s changed?

What does his stupid body _want_?

* * *

On day four, Jihoon is so overheated he has to change his shirt three times before he can leave for the office. He’s running 15 minutes late when he finally arrives, and is in such a rush, he walks right into a brick wall as he rounds the corner.

A brick wall that smells like after-shave and leather and _wolf_ and definitely wasn’t there yesterday.

As he goes sprawling on the ground, he notices that it’s not a magical brick wall that has appeared in front of him—but _Seungcheol—wearing_ a sharp black suit, aviator sunglasses and an absolutely hideous grin of satisfaction as he holds a hand out in aid.

Jihoon, whose senses are all aflame, breathes him in before he can stop himself and suddenly wants, quite badly, to climb him like a tree and hump him.

Wait—where did _that_ thought come from?

Jihoon freezes, every muscle in his body tensing.

 _It’s the heat_ —he tells himself— _It must just be the heat._

He has to force himself to relax before he accepts Seungcheol’s hand and lets him pull him up.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. He manages to make it come out confused, at least, rather than rude or sarcastic.

Seungcheol just keeps on grinning, “Didn’t they tell you? Jisoo’s called in sick and the deadline is non-negotiable, to they asked me to come in and help with the case. Now, normally I wouldn’t be tempted to cut my vacation short for anything, but when they told me _you_ needed my help—I was on the next train back.” He says with a salacious wink.

Caught off guard, Jihoon stalls. In a very awkward, obvious way. “Oh, uhm, no. They didn’t. I mean, erm—thanks….for coming back. Good to have you on board.”

Seungcheol raises both eyebrows at him, higher and higher the longer Jihoon spins out. “Are you okay Jihoon?”

Jihoon feels his mouth go a little dry, but he nods and wipes the sweat off his brow and trying to pretend that he isn't, in fact, doing so. “Yeah, fine.”

“So—just arriving? Not like you to be running late.” Seungcheol chirps.

Jihoon frowns and meets his eyes, which turns out to be a mistake. Seungcheol has pushed the sunglasses down over his nose and is peering at Jihoon over them, and the amusement sparkling there is more than a little mesmerizing.

As hard as he tries, Jihoon can't bring himself to look away, and a dim part of him finds this uncomfortably similar to the way snakes paralyze their prey. But the rest of him is distracted by how his own body is responding. Despite his brain's indecision, his body is pleading with him to move closer, to curl his arms around Seungcheol’s broad chest and tuck his head under his chin.

Jihoon, for once, actually contemplates following through, and has even taken a step closer before he realises what he’s doing, how _stupid_ he’s being, and quickly takes two steps back.

“I—uh, I’m sorry,” He mumbles, dropping his gaze and giving Seungcheol a wide berth as maneuvers around him. He quickly rushes down the corridor, but not before seeing a slight look of alarm cross Seungcheol's features.

When he reaches the office, Jihoon makes a beeline for the water cooler and downs five cups of water before taking a sixth to his desk. He gets to work immediately, sorting through his notes from the previous day, but pauses when he notices Seungcheol is looming at the foot of his desk.

“Yes? Can I help you?” Jihoon snaps, when after a few minutes Seungcheol _still_ hasn't budged.

He’s just standing there, gaze fixed on Jihoon more intently than is comfortable. He keeps breathing through his mouth and making weird sniffling sounds, like he wants to pinch his nose but thinks it would be rude.

“Why do you—” After a quick look over his shoulder, Seungcheol lowers his voice, overly conscious of where Seungkwan is busy tapping away at his laptop, no more than a few feet away. “You smell different, did you know that?”

Jihoon can feel heat rising in his face, no doubt making him even more flushed than he was to begin with.

This is easily one of the most embarrassing moments of his life, and he can’t think of a way to explain, to get out of this situation gracefully.

“It's not a _bad_ smell,” Seungcheol continues, still in the same low, soft voice, obviously only for Jihoon's ears. “It's just ... _different_.” He takes another sniff, and his expression goes from mildly puzzled to laser-focused in two seconds. “You smell like se—"

“I really don’t have time for this Seungcheol.” Jihoon interrupts, turning back to his computer. If Seungcheol can't identify the pheromones he knows he's pumping out, Jihoon sure as hell won't be the one to spell it out for him. “If you’re officially back from vacation I suggest you get to work. Seungkwan can use some help—he’s been bothering me all week.” He says, gritting it out.

There must be something about his voice or face that convinces Seungcheol he’s serious, because after a moment Seungcheol straightens, gives him an apologetic smile, and leaves.

When he joins Seungkwan on the other side of the office, Jihoon hears his own name, and then Seungkwan’s scoffing reply, loud enough for Jihoon to hear: “Oh, yeah, he's been in a prissy mood all week. And don’t even think about touching the thermostat, he might actually kill you.”

Seungcheol makes a soft, inquisitive noise in response, turning his head to look at Jihoon over his shoulder.

Jihoon hunches over his desk and stares determinedly at his computer screen, knowing full well that his face is bright red.

* * *

Something’s… off about Jihoon today.

Things have been going well between them recently—even better than Seungcheol could have ever hoped, but it’s almost as if Jihoon’s personality has done a 180-degree turn in the few days Seungcheol’s been away, and he can’t help but think something has happened. Something _big_ —something that’s dowered away all the territory Jihoon has ceded to him over the months they’ve worked together.

Annoyingly, Seungcheol can’t quite put his finger on _what_.

It's typical for them to bicker—he’s not denying that. Jihoon’s good at pointing out flaws, and since Seungcheol is easily one of the more vocal people in their team, he has a lot of ideas to bring to the table, so it's not unusual for them to be knocking heads, even if they have been getting along. 

But for Jihoon to flatly shoot down _all_ of Seungcheol's ideas, to hiss and rear back the second Seungcheol tries to approach him, to throw a tantrum just because Seungkwan is leaning over Seungcheol’s desk, is _beyond_ unusual.

It’s like they’re back at square one. Only worse.

They’re at the square _before_ square one, where not only is Seungcheol a complete stranger, but also possibly the worst thing to happen to Jihoon’s life.

It doesn’t make any sense.

There’s also the small matter about Jihoon’s scent and how it makes Seungcheol want to rip off his clothes, lay him on the conference desk and fuck his brains out…

But that’s hardly unusual anymore.

Seungcheol’s worked with Jihoon for almost a year now, and he’s had that thought more than once.

* * *

Seungcheol is _staring_ at him again.

No, not again. _Still_.

Seungcheol’s been staring all afternoon instead of working on the case with the sort of hyper-intense focus Jihoon’s wrath tends to inspire.

Oh, sure, his gaze whips away whenever Jihoon glances over, and he can create the _illusion_ of focus—but Jihoon can _feel_ Seungcheol's stare burning into him, and it makes him all the more uncomfortable, until he's practically squirming in his seat.

Glaring and snapping back doesn’t seem to be discouraging him, and neither does rolling his chair to the far side of the desk, so that Seungkwan’s computer blocks his view. That just encourages Seungcheol roll his chair to the opposite side of _his_ desk, so he can stare at Jihoon side on.

Jihoon commits himself to ignoring him as much as the job will allow, but that proves impossible when Seungkwan steps over to Seungcheol’s desk to get opinion on his opening statement and Jihoon quite obviously, throws a hissy fit.

It’s probably not a good sign that his body so strongly objects to the sight of Seungkwan loitering in Seungcheol’s personal space. That he is suddenly, furiously, _irrationally_ jealous that one of his co-workers is talking to another. That he’s thinking— _How dare he? How dare let someone get close to him like that? How dare he leave me and then come back and then spend time with someone else? Look at them, look at them talking to each other. If I wasn’t here, they’d probably be fucking on the copy machine. Unbelievable! Seungkwan’s not even one of us, he’s not a shifter. If anyone should be getting fucked by Seungcheol, it should be me!_

By the time Jihoon dismisses that, frankly, _mortifying_ stream of thought, it's too late to do anything more than be annoyed with himself because Seungcheol is already staring over at him like he’s crazy.

And it is crazy. It’s utter _madness._

He should not want the things he wants from Seungcheol right now; he should not want to tear his clothes off and pounce Seungcheol, to roll and stretch and rub his scent all over him; he should not want to climb into Seungcheol’s lap and ride his cock while Seungkwan looks on in outrage. Up until twenty seconds ago, he was certain nothing would ever come from the physical attraction he felt towards the other man, was sure he could live quite contently being Seungcheol’s friend. But _damn_ is his body trying to prove him wrong.

Eventually Seungkwan senses the tension brewing and gets up, throws his jacket over his shoulder and announces, “Alright, I don’t know what’s going on, but you guys are acting weirder than usual. I’m going for an early lunch, so you better have this disagreement ironed out by the time I get back.”

The second he leaves, Seungcheol is out of his seat and crossing the room with purposeful strides, a question on the tip of his tongue. Jihoon doesn’t wait to find out what he’s going to say, he slides out of his seat and backs away until his back hits the wall.

“I’m sorry okay, I can’t help it.”

Seungcheol comes to a stop a few feet away, looking irritable and a little bit twitchy.

“Is it something I did? Are you angry with me?”

“No, no, you didn’t do anything.” Jihoon gestures dismissively.

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. “Are you _sure_? Cause Seungkwan told me you’ve gotten moodier since I arrived, and I thought maybe I’d said something to upset you. I mean, that comment I made about me coming back because you needed my help, I was just joking you know. I think you guys almost have this case wrapped up, you don’t really need my help. I was just bored being back home, and when I found out Jisoo was off sick, I offered to step in. I wasn’t _trying_ to step on anyone’s toes.”

Jihoon shakes his head, blushing guilty. “And you’re _not_. Your help is very much appreciated. I’m glad you’re back Seungcheol, honestly.”

For a moment, it looks like Seungcheol wants to smile. Then he shakes his head, and asks, “Then what’s _wrong_? Why are you so moody today? And _Jesus_ —” He makes a noise halfway between a whimper and a growl as he closes the distance between them, “Why do you _smell_ like that?”

Jihoon opens his mouth to warn him away, but Seungcheol just cuts him off by reaching over and clasping a hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer, leaning down until his nose almost brushes Jihoon's jaw and draws in a deep, shuddery breath.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Seungcheol breathes out again, shaken, but makes no move to step away. “What _is_ that?”

Jihoon shudders violently. The hot breath against the sensitive whorls of his ear feel as if Seungcheol has somehow reached inside him to play his nerve endings like violin strings. Every slight touch reverberates through him with acoustic accuracy.

“I—I told you. I can’t help it.” Jihoon croaks, hyper aware of the beat of his heart and the whoosh of the air in his lungs. His face is hot, his hands are damp, and the muscles at the base of his tail ache so badly he wants to raise it instead of tucking it down his pant leg. “I’m in he—”

“I’ve never smelt something so fucking _amazing_.” Seungcheol interjects

Jihoon jerks back a little in shock. That is not what he was expecting.

He’s numb as Seungcheol takes in a few more hungry breaths, and his nose is definitely brushing Jihoon's skin now, but Jihoon remains frozen still, waiting for Seungcheol to get it out of his system, like a pet dog smelling a new dog-scent on its owner. But then he feels the wet of Seungcheol's tongue lap over the pulse point on his neck, and he has no choice but to shove him off.

“Fuck, Cheol. What the hell!”

“Sorry about that,” says Seungcheol, _not_ looking sorry at all.

“You _licked_ me—”

“I know, I know,” Seungcheol half-snarls at him, fingers twitching restlessly at his sides. “I just, can I just—”

Jihoon jerks away as he begins to lean in again, glaring.

“I promise I won't lick you again,” says Seungcheol plaintively, raising a hand. “I just—I really need to smell you right now Jihoon. Please—your scent is driving me crazy.”

“Then maybe you should stop _sniffing_ me idiot,” Jihoon spits out bluntly, but makes no move to shove Seungcheol away again.

It probably wouldn’t make a difference; Seungcheol’s nostrils are flaring, and his eyes are glazed over hungrily, verging on manic. It’s the closest Jihoon's ever come to seeing the guy lose control of himself, and he can't help but preen at getting even the tiniest sliver of animal reaction out of him. Jihoon hates being out of control, but if he's not the only one, it's not so bad.

Against all common sense, he submits to Seungcheol's once-over again, feels himself relaxing here, tensing there, preparing himself for another assault on his senses.

Seungcheol is _methodical_ this time; he starts sniffing around his hairline, then down behind his ear, then he lingers for a while at his neck again, taking deep, slow breaths. It seems to calm him down a little, as the red fades slightly from his eyes. At one point, he even brings both hands up to Jihoon's shoulders, so that Jihoon can't pull away even if he wanted to (which, he finds to his surprise, he doesn't really).

Soon, Jihoon can tell the sniffing isn't enough, or at least, the bare skin Seungcheol has to work with isn't. When Seungcheol makes a sound of marked frustration, and starts pawing at his collar, Jihoon bats the hand away and fixes a sneer on his lips. 

“I think you’ve had enough. Now go back to your desk before Seungkwan walks in on this and starts spreading rumours about us again.”

Seungcheol has to blink a few times before any semblance of clarity returns to his eyes. “Oh, uhm—sorry.” He says dumbly, though at least this time he _does_ manage to look apologetic as he moves back to his side of the office.

Jihoon returns to his desk, not before noting that he's half-hard in his pants. He can only hope Seungcheol couldn't smell _that_ kind of receptiveness on him.

* * *

When he notices, some-time after Seungkwan returns, that Seungcheol is staring right over his shoulder at him while Seungkwan talks, looking for all the world like he’d very much like to come over and sniff him again, Jihoon does what he should have done in the first place and grabs their oscillating fan, powered-off in the corner.

He hauls it promptly over to sit in the middle of the room, places it on the side further from his own and switches it on.

Seungcheol's expression is quizzical until Jihoon returns to his own desk, safely downwind, where he has to weigh all his papers down with stray mugs and paperweights.

Seungcheol seems to understand his intent then, and appears to relax marginally as he gets back to work.

Which is fantastic. They’re on a deadline here after all. Except Jihoon has failed to account for one thing: with every rotation of the fan, Seungcheol's wolfy smell is now blowing in _his_ direction. More importantly, he isn’t prepared for the way the rich, musky scent washes over him, leaving him ten degrees too warm under his collar.

Jesus—since when has Seungcheol smelled so fucking wild and _irresistible_? And why is it fucking with his head?

Seungcheol’s scent is _so_ potent now, it’s overrunning the boundaries of smell to become almost a physical presence, something Jihoon can touch, something that can touch him in return. It feels like hands, stopping him in his tracks, trying to turn him around and push him in Seungcheol’s direction.

Or perhaps, that’s all just his imagination. The heat playing tricks on his mind.

Eventually Seungkwan is the one to get up and turn the fan off, complaining that it's too cold to have it blowing in his face, and Jihoon can pinpoint the precise moment when the air settles and his own scent hits Seungcheol.

His nostrils flare a second before his eyes flash, predatory, making every hair on the back of Jihoon’s neck stand on end.

He’s so fucked.

* * *

Despite Jihoon’s heat, despite Seungcheol’s obvious distraction, they manage to catch up somehow. Enough at least to call it a night at a reasonable hour, to head home and rest before they have to start all over again tomorrow.

Seungcheol seems more like himself as they take the elevator down together, chats away about nothing in particular as they stroll through the lobby. He’s downright cheerful as they wave goodbye each other, heading off in separate directions towards their respective cars. But as soon as Seungkwan drives out of the carpark, Seungcheol’s turning on his heels and stalking back across the unlit carpark towards him. 

The cloak of normalcy has officially dropped away, and Jihoon has to actively stop his tail from swinging wildly and ripping a hole in his pants as Seungcheol comes to a stop a few feet behind him, and his breathy, husky voice whispers in his ear.

“I really think we need to talk about this Jihoon.”

He's leaning closer as he speaks, straying so far across the line of Jihoon’s personal space that Jihoon can feel the heat build between their bodies, can already feel his cognitive faculties draining away.

Shutting his eyes, he parts his lips and inhales, drinking in Seungcheol's own pheromone-laden scent as the man rambles on.

“If you’re not feeling well, maybe you should take a few days off. Tell them you caught whatever bug Jisoo had, and let Seungkwan and I handle the rest of the case. Or—I don’t know, ask for some time off? You gotta do something man, because I can’t handle another day of you smelling like _that_.”

Jihoon takes a deep breath and considers that information.

“I can’t do that Seungcheol,” he says finally. “This is my case—I’ve poured my blood, sweat and tears into it for months and I _need_ to see it through. Besides—whatever’s happening to me shouldn’t be affecting you. We’re different species.”

“Jihoon.” Seungcheol sounds broken as his hand closes over Jihoon’s shoulder, nails scraping ever so gently over the soft skin of Jihoon's neck. It seems to take him a considerable effort to let his hand fall away again. “Trust me when I say—my body does not _care_ that we are different species _. It really doesn’t_. I am _this_ close to doing something I—I don’t think you’d want me to do."

Jihoon lets his eyes fell shut, lost in the husky purr of Seungcheol’s voice. Lost in _Seungcheol_ , standing so close that Jihoon can feel the heat of him, smell the hints of smoke and spice on his skin.

Coming to a decision, albeit an _insane_ one, he reaches for his notepad and tears a piece of paper off the corner, scribbles his address down.

“I'm in heat—” He says, moving abruptly, turning to face Seungcheol, and he already knows his face is flushed; even this statement can't make him much redder. “Do—do you know what that is?”

“Yeah, of course. _Shit_. I should have guessed.” Seungcheol snorts a soft laugh, rubbing at his face tiredly. “That definitely explains the boner I’ve been sporting had all day.”

Jihoon has to make a concentrated effort to keep looking at his face. “R-really?”

Seungcheol grins, an expression more like a baring of teeth than a smile. “Like I said, my body doesn’t care that we’re different. All it cares about is that you’re….in a very _receptive_ state right now.”

Hand shaking, Jihoon holds the scrap of paper out, waiting until Seungcheol accepts it before continuing. “That’s my address—if, you know, you want to make yourself _useful_.”

He doesn’t wait around to see if Seungcheol gets it, he just turns back to his car and unlocks the door, tosses his stuff into the backseat. He can see Seungcheol standing there in the rearview mirror as he drives off, staring at the piece of paper dumbly.

* * *

That evening finds Jihoon pacing in his living room, rethinking every life decision that has led him to this moment.

Seungcheol got the message alright—but then he called, just to be absolutely clear they were on the same page.

_“You’re inviting me over for sex, right? I just want to be clear on that Jihoon—I’m coming over to fuck you, and not to do more work or review case files.”_

_“What? No. I mean—no to work. I, uh—thought I was being obvious. Why would I invite you over for work?”_

_“Because that’s totally something you would do Jihoon. You love work.”_

_“So? I enjoy my job is that…uugh! Look—the invitation was for sex, not work.”_

_“Hmm, good. I’ll be over in twenty minutes kitten.”_

So Seungcheol had accepted the invitation with easy cheer, but Jihoon is apparently so tuned in to Seungcheol’s voice now that he picked up on the heated purr underscoring the casual words. Seungcheol understood _exactly_ what Jihoon was asking for, and the transparency of his own need had Jihoon hardening in his pants.

Seungcheol should be there any minute. He’d said to give him twenty minutes, and it’s been at least fifteen minutes past that. Giving Jihoon plenty of time to lose his mind from nerves and horniness.

What is he even doing, anyway?

He shouldn’t be doing this.

Most shifters avoid sexual entanglements with different species, but here he is getting a booty call from a werewolf. He really, really shouldn’t be doing this. But, fuck, it’s been so long since Jihoon’s been touched properly. And just thinking about all the ways Seungcheol _can_ touch him has him crawling the walls.

By the time there’s a knock on the door, Jihoon is a jittery wreck. In more ways than one.

He opens the door to find Seungcheol standing there, brimming with a sexual energy Jihoon can smell. He’s looking ridiculously attractive in jeans and a navy shirt. The cotton clings to Seungcheol’s arms and shoulders in a way that’s giving Jihoon ideas. He wants to sink his claws into those shoulders and wrap his tail around those thighs. He wants to drop to his knees and nuzzle into the bulge already growing in Seungcheol’s pants. He wants to slam the door in Seungcheol’s face and hide under the blankets.

He does none of those things. Although it’s a close thing.

“Come in,” he urges, tugging Seungcheol in and quickly shutting the door, even though he’s pretty sure Old Mrs Kim doesn’t give two shits about who he invites to his house.

Leading the way into the living room, he turns and meets Seungcheol’s eyes, whole body tense with the effort of holding his ground when all he wants is to hurl himself into Seungcheol’s arms.

“Can I, uh, get you anything? A drink? Let me get you a drink. There isn’t much, I’m afraid. Just the basics—beer, wine. I don’t really entertain much these days. I mostly drink alone.”

_What am I doing? Why the fuck am I still talking?_

“—not that I normally drink alone every night or anything. I don’t really drink much at _all_.”

_Shit, did that sound too uptight?_

“—but you can, if you want.”

_Shit, did that sound too suggestive?_

“I mean, I don’t mind. Be my guest.”

_Jesus, I’m never getting laid now._

“Not saying that you _need_ my permission. I’m not judging you. Or permitting you. Or _not_ permitting you to drink.”

_STOP. STOP. Abort! Abort words!_

“I mean—well, you know what I mean. So, do you _know_ what you’d like to drink? If you’d like something, of course. You don’t have to—we could just get naked and start..”

He’s about one sentence away from bashing his head into the wall, just to make himself shut up.

Fortunately, Seungcheol decides that’s a good time to take Jihoon into his arms and capture his mouth in a kiss.

It begins sweet, soft and slow but full of intent. Jihoon is too caught up in his own surprise to reciprocate, can’t do much more than hold on tight and let himself open up for Seungcheol’s lips and tongue.

He hadn’t really expected there to be kissing—sure it comes with the territory, but he’d honestly thought Seungcheol would leave his sentimentality at the door, flip him over and get down to business; the man is so direct about most things, why should this be any different?

But Seungcheol kisses him like they have all the time in the _world_ , like he finds genuine pleasure in it, like there’s nothing he’d rather do than hold Jihoon tightly and kiss him breathless.

When he uses the grip on Jihoon’s hair to tilt his head further back, dominating the kiss, pushing it to something new—something forceful, powerful, kissing like he's trying to devour Jihoon, Jihoon can't help but thread a hand through his hair and kiss him back—deep and wet, tongue flicking somewhat ineptly, but enthusiastically against Seungcheol’s.

He wants more. He wants everything. He wants to let go of the last guide wires of common sense and allows himself to get lost in the astonishing sensation of _being_ with this man.

When they’re both breathless, Seungcheol breaks free and searches Jihoon’s gaze. “Not going to lie, I’ve thought about this a lot.”

“ _Really_?” Jihoon says breathlessly.

Seungcheol bites his lip and nods, then presses his body to Jihoon's, and it hits Jihoon just how fucking _hard_ Seungcheol is. He doesn’t know much about Werewolf cock, but the length pressed against his thigh feels pretty substantial.

Jihoon makes a soft sound, one he’d deny ever making in the light of day, and clings to Seungcheol’s shirt. He might be on the verge of hyperventilating—but then Seungcheol lowers his head till their foreheads touch, runs a hand through his hair and pets his nape, and that touch alone is enough to soothe his frayed nerves.

“Shh, shh. Here now, let me take care of you kitten.” Seungcheol murmurs, hot mouth moving restlessly over the pulse point on his neck, reducing him to a pile of cinders.

There’s a distant worry in the back of Jihoon’s mind, struggling to break through the sensual fog that is closing down his brain. Trying to remember it has become something of a challenge, but when Seungcheol’s hand drifts down to grope at his ass, it finally surfaces.

“Wait, wait—” He gasps, pulling back to look Seungcheol in the eye “Did you bring protection?”

“Ah—” Seungcheol stalls a little, blinking as he parses the question. “Uh, no. Why would I do that?”

“Because we’re going to have sex.” Jihoon answers reflexively, feeling his heart racing while he tries to maintain outward calm.

Seungcheol stares at him and shakes his head, a blend of confused irritation. “So? Look, if you’re worried about me making a mess, I’m just going to have to warn you know—it is _going_ to get messy. I’m a wolf Jihoon, I like to come all over everything and rub my scent over anyone I fuck. I have to mark my territory, so everyone knows what belongs to me.”

And okay, _wow_ —Jihoon’s body is responding really positively to that idea, when it really should be freaking him out. But obviously the part of his brain that registers things like that is on the verge of going completely offline.

He wets his lips and exhales shakily. “That—fine, okay. But we should still probably use some kind of protection.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes at him now, all seriousness and intense focus, until his expression softens abruptly.

“Jihoon, you do realise us shifters can’t catch STD’s right?” He says with a half-smile.

Jihoon’s mouth moves soundlessly for a moment, and no comments are forthcoming from his brain either. He’s frozen and disbelieving—because that’s some very new, very interesting information that he should probably already have. Information he _would_ have if he hadn’t been so wilfully ignoring everything about that side of himself. 

“We’ve got a pretty impressive immune system,” Seungcheol goes on, answering the question Jihoon hasn’t spoken aloud. “No colds, no flus, none of the communicable diseases humans get. Even if we happen to ingest something poisonous, are bodies will quickly eject it. It’s one of the many benefits of being a shifter actually. Pretty cool huh?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Jihoon draws the word out, letting the information sink in. “I—I had no idea.”

Seungcheol’s expression pinches sympathetically, “I take it you’ve lived a pretty sheltered life up until I barged into it.” His chews on his lower lip, a little indecisively before adding, “How would you have normally taken care of your heats?”

“By myself.” Jihoon murmurs. He lifts one shoulder, “I—I would just use toys. But it hasn’t been working very well this time.”

Seungcheol’s expression softens impossibly further, but he’s reeling Jihoon in again, dipping his head to nuzzle at his jaw, “Aw, kitten. That must have been unbearable for you.”

Face burning with renewed embarrassment, Jihoon jerks away and starts heading down the corridor towards the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he goes with trembling fingers. He’s not sure if it’s nerves or excitement—or maybe Seungcheol just has a way of eliciting both feelings at once. It doesn’t matter, though, because Jihoon has decided that nothing is going to stop him from getting what he wants from this man, once and for all.

Seungcheol follows him to the bedroom at a more sedate pace, casting his own shirt aside and unbuckling his belt. The second the door closes behind him, he snags Jihoon by his beltloops and tugs him close, crowds him against the wall.

“Let me,” he says, taking over the task of undressing him.

The second he gets his fingers between linen and skin, the facade Jihoon didn't realise was a facade collapses and he _whines_. It's too hot in this room, this shirt, this _skin_ —he's been holding it in and now suddenly his body is letting go without his say so. He just needs to fuck this out, get this over with. He just _needs this_.

“Shh—it’s okay.” Seungcheol says softly, hands smoothing down Jihoon’s throat, his chest, his stomach. His fingers move deftly over the buckle of Jihoon's belt, his eyes never leaving Jihoon's face; then he unzips him and pushes Jihoon's pants down, kneeling as he goes, and Jihoon shuts his eyes before he can get a good look at the heavy smear of slick between his legs. 

It’s a fucking mess—he can feel slick dripping down his thighs, down his tail when it comes free and curls at the tip. He can’t imagine it makes for a very appealing sight, but Seungcheol obviously _lives_ to prove him wrong because he just leans in and start _licking_ him clean.

The contact leaves Jihoon’s head spinning, tail thrashing in wild surprise, and it takes him a moment's startled confusion to realize the moan in his ears is his _own_.

“That good, huh?” Seungcheol grins up at him, all bared teeth, his canines tipped and sharp. “I haven’t even got started yet.”

Jihoon can’t spare the brain power to respond, he can only let his head lol back and moan in agreement as Seungcheol continues to clean him with broad, wet swipes of his tongue. A moment later, his head snaps up however, when he feels Seungcheol capture his swinging tail in a gentle grip and begins to lick it clean too.

“It’s, ahh—no," Jihoon says, breathless and barely coherent, quick to pry his tail out of Seungcheol’s hands.

It’s not that Seungcheol isn’t being careful—he’s being very gentle—but Jihoon’s tail is hypersensitive right now, and he’s probably going to embarrass himself soon if Seungcheol keeps touching it.

The tail doesn’t appreciate the intervention of course, and arches in its own traitorous volition, swinging up to swat Jihoon in the face.

Not one to be discouraged, Seungcheol just grins and winds an arm around Jihoon's waist as he rises to his feet, pulling them flush again. When he kisses Jihoon, his other hand slides down Jihoon's spine to knead at the base of his tail, which seems like a fair compromise.

With Seungcheol busy kissing and stroking him, Jihoon lets hands roam over Seungcheol’s torso, tracing every curve of muscle that he’s admired from across the office. Some he could clearly see defined under those over-starched work shirts. Others are new and beautiful under his palms.

God, the _body_ on this man. He’ll feel so big pressing against Jihoon, holding him down. Jihoon gives off a delighted little shiver and sucks harder on Seungcheol’s tongue. A sort of _thank you_ for being so fucking hot.

Seungcheol returns the sentiment by running a heavy hand down to Jihoon’s ass and dragging their hips together, and _fuck yes_. The hot pressure of Seungcheol’s clothed erection tight against his own… Jihoon can’t help but grind against it, moaning.

He could come from this.

He could so _easily_ come from _just_ this, and he clings to Seungcheol’s shoulders in a desperate attempt at anchoring himself in the storm of yearning raging inside him.

“Ahh, ahn—don’t stop,” he begs, rolling his hips up against Seungcheol’s, trying to get more friction where he needs it most.

This motion seems to remind Seungcheol of his mission, and with a sudden sense of purpose he jerks Jihoon away from the wall and urges him towards the bed.

Jihoon follows unresisting. He has the surreal sense that he _couldn't_ resist, even if he wanted to, but somehow the thought doesn't trouble him. He feels safe in Seungcheol's hands—safe as he's manhandled towards the bed and pushed onto his knees.

He glances around in time to see Seungcheol shedding his own pants, his erection springing free, curving up toward his stomach, and _fuck_ —he's huge.

Jihoon didn’t know dicks could come that _big_.

He feels a flash of fear, big time second thoughts about the whole idea, and his tail immediately drops flat again, as though to shield his ass.

Seungcheol chuckles, noticing this. “Don't worry, kitten,” he murmurs, dropping onto the bed and petting Jihoon’s tail a little, “Your body wants this, it can handle it. And I'll make sure you're nice and loose for me before that goes anywhere near you.”

“Will you stop paying attention to my tail,” Jihoon snaps, trying to save a little face. In answer Seungcheol gives his tail a playful tug, then reaches up and tickles right under the base, sending a jolt straight to Jihoon's prick.

Suddenly, Jihoon hears the snap of a cap of lube and the sound of Seungcheol slicking up his fingers. Instinctively, his tail whisks low again, but before he can react further Seungcheol is grasping it in a gentle grip and holding it up out of the way while a slicked finger circles Jihoon's hole.

Even without the lube Jihoon’s plenty wet, and the first digit glides inside effortlessly. Then without hesitation, a second slides in beside the first and Jihoon gasps a broken sound into the pillow, spreading his thighs wider in spite of the ache.

“That's it, beautiful,” Seungcheol murmurs, working his fingers in deep, “Show yourself off for me.”

Jihoon whines, tail twitching violently in Seungcheol's grip as those thick fingers twist and curl inside him—loosening his body, working him open. Preparing him. 

If Jihoon could speak, he would be begging right now, because every bump of Seungcheol’s knuckles against his oversensitive hole is too much and still not enough.

When Seungcheol edges a third finger inside, Jihoon hisses and clenches around the intrusion erratically, but then Seungcheol releases his tail and reaches for his cock instead. His palm is warm, slightly rough, and Jihoon positively melts into the touch.

“Wait, wait,” he pants, sinking to his elbows. “I'm gonna ...”

Seungcheol squeezes gently anyway, rolling his thumb up under the crown of Jihoon's prick and flicking his wrist, and Jihoon comes hard, all over Seungcheol's hand and the sheets.

Groaning, he collapses forward in sweaty resignation, until his forehead is resting on the covers. His eyes flutter closed against his will, and his heart is beating so fast he thinks it might just wiggle through his rib cage and find a way out of his chest. Then he starts to rock his whole body back into the gentle thrusts of Seungcheol's hand, rubbing his forehead back and forth over the sheets.

Yeah, he’s just come, but he's still hard—maybe harder than he's ever been, and almost instantly desperate to get off again.

“You’re amazing,” Seungcheol marvels, eyes riveted to where he’s still fingering Jihoon open. “You smell so good, I just wanna—" 

Seungcheol doesn’t give any warning before he crouches down and presses a chaste kiss over Jihoon’s hole. Just a quick brush of lips, a rasp of stubble on sensitive skin, a wet stroke with the tip of his tongue over the small furl of muscle and then it’s already gone.

It’s so shockingly intimate that Jihoon can’t stop himself from crying out.

He wants more of Seungcheol’s mouth there—but then those fingers are back between his cheeks and Seungcheol is slicking his cock up impatiently, petting a thumb over his hole while murmuring filthy praise.

The curl of fingers around his lashing tail is all the warning Jihoon gets before there's a different sort of prodding at his aching entrance. He forces himself to breathe, out and then in, tries to hold himself loose for the thicker bluntness of Seungcheol's cock. Anticipation catches fiercely in his chest, and a greedy chorus of _yes-yes-yes-c’mon-please-just do it_ sings in his blood.

When the thick cock head finally enters him, the first sensation to accompany it is pain. Jihoon cries out, mewling pathetically, even though he knew it was coming—even though he knew it would hurt—he gives a bright, sharp shout as Seungcheol sinks into the root in one hot slide.

Seungcheol’s not much quieter himself. He groans loudly as he bottoms out, weight bearing down on Jihoon's back like a sweaty blanket, one arm braced beside Jihoon's head.

There’s no time for either of them to adjust though; now that it’s finally happening, Seungcheol seems as impatient as Jihoon himself, because he doesn’t give Jihoon time to adjust at all. Barely a heartbeat passes before he’s gripping Jihoon’s hips tightly and drawing out, then thrusting roughly in again—filling Jihoon with slow but inexorable possessiveness.

By the third thrust, Jihoon's arching his back and tightening his ass around Seungcheol’s cock, discomfort giving way to the force of pleasure winding tight in his gut.

And holy shit.

Jihoon has not suffered through many heats, and he’s never shared them with another person, so he doesn't know if this sudden and immense contentment coursing through him is just a happy side effect of finally being filled, or if that Seungcheol is simply that _good_. All he knows is that nothing has ever felt so achingly satisfying as the drag of that cock inside of him.

Seungcheol moves like a dream, pushing up inside him to that itch he can't reach, and if Jihoon was currently capable of speech, pride be damned, he would moan and beg without shame and push back to meet every one of Seungcheol’s thrusts. 

As it stands, he can only manage a breathy, creaking whine, curve his tail tightly over Seungcheol's shoulder to clutch at the back of his neck and accept whatever Seungcheol gives him.

Seungcheol gives him everything.

He claims Jihoon with greedy thrusts, pounding his ass so hard his knees are creaking and turning his body into a shaking, purring mess. He presses hungry kisses between Jihoon’s shoulder blades, up his spine to the back of his neck, growling into his skin, wordless and possessive and fierce.

Jihoon feels drunk as he rides it out—swimming in the smell of Seungcheol, sharp and canine and masculine, and from far away he hears cries in what he can't believe is his voice.

He’s close now—so fucking close. But when he attempts to reach for his own straining cock, Seungcheol growls, actually _growls_ , a bass rumble that resonates through Jihoon's chest cavity, then he pulls out and detaches himself from Jihoon.

To Jihoon's mortification, he keens when Seungcheol breaks contact, but in the next instant Seungcheol is flipping him roughly onto his back, hooking one of Jihoon's knees over his arm and sliding back home with a groan of relief.

It drives breath from Jihoon’s lungs—not because it hurts, although it does, a little—but because Seungcheol’s cock and eyes and possessive, heavy hands are filling his chest up with more warmth than he has room for. Something has to go, and oxygen is overrated anyway, especially in comparison to this completed, claimed sensation that rolls through him in a burning wave every time Seungcheol pulls out and rocks back in.

“You’re beautiful,” Seungcheol murmurs on the next thrust, tipping forward to claim Jihoon’s mouth in a soft kiss.

Which is just—god— _it’s too much._

With an alarming clench of his chest, Jihoon turns his face to the side at the last second.

Seungcheol chases him, brushing their mouths together, and Jihoon turns his head the other way.

A moment later, Seungcheol’s forehead is resting on the upturned side of Jihoon’s face as he breathes a laugh in his ear.

“Seriously, you’re still shy? I’m balls deep inside you and you’re still shy around me?” He asks, a teasing timbre in his voice as he punctuates his point with a purposeful slowing of his hips.

Jihoon whines low in his throat, squeezes his eyes shut, momentarily cowed.

He _isn’t_ shy—it would be stupid to be shy around Seungcheol now. But there is something dangerously soft in Seungcheol’s eyes, and it leaves Jihoon feeling completely exposed. He may have been naked for the better part of an hour, but this is the first he really feels it.

“It’s okay.” Seungcheol whispers, almost as if Jihoon has answered. “You can feel any way you want. I’m sorry.”

And without another second’s hesitation, he withdraws and fills Jihoon with again with a single, impatient thrust.

Up until now, Seungcheol’s rhythm has been steady. A driving force that rocks Jihoon with the power of Seungcheol’s thrusts, in and out, harder and deeper—a mounting intensity that gives no sign of abating. Now Seungcheol starts to change the pace—he moves a little slower, pushes in deeper, as deep as he can, hips flattened to Jihoon's thighs before dragging back out again.

It's absolute torture.

“Seungcheol,” Jihoon pants breathlessly, scratching sharply at his back, trying to pick up the rhythm Seungcheol was training into his hips, “C’mon, please—faster.”

“Wait, just let me,” Seungcheol begins, then stutters off, burying himself as deep inside Jihoon as he can be, and fits his mouth against Jihoon's in another kiss just as he—

_Oh fuck._

_Oh wow._

Jihoon’s eyes widened as conflicting sensations overwhelm him, because if he isn’t mistaken, the base of Seungcheol’s cock is starting to _swell_. It’s growing inside of him, sealing them together, stretching the rim of his hole painfully taut. 

Breaking the kiss, Jihoon arches his spine off the bed and gasps, “What are you—”

“Wait,” Seungcheol says, holding him still, nuzzling at the column of Jihoon’s throat even as Jihoon twists rebelliously beneath him. His eyes are dark and dazed and he nips along Jihoon's neck tenderly, like he doesn't know he's folding Jihoon almost in half and stretching him open in painful increasing increments.

Jihoon takes a deep breath and another, squeezing down hesitantly, causing his own cock to jump against his stomach and pulling a moan from Seungcheol.

It's only when Jihoon starts to panic, makes a little mewl of pain, afraid Seungcheol is going to tear him apart, that Seungcheol becomes still inside him again, stretching him around an impossible girth.

For a second, they're silent apart from harsh panting breaths, then Seungcheol makes a whining noise deep in his throat, eyes rolling back in his head as he clutches Jihoon tight and comes and comes and _comes_ , spilling in long, hot spurts.

Jihoon cries out hoarsely as his own orgasm overtakes him from the sensation alone.

It’s intense—it’s blindingly good—cresting inside of him in something that isn’t just a wave but a tsunami. His world whites out, shrinking until only he and Seungcheol are in it, until all he can feel is Seungcheol over him, in him, as his balls try their damnedest to empty themselves all over his chest.

Jihoon floats for a while, lost in the sensation, but is pulled back to reality as a sudden muscle spasm in his leg informs him that his body is _not_ pleased by his current position.

Seungcheol must have sensed it, because he stirs himself enough to pull back a little and ask, “You okay?”

With his fever momentarily quenched and his head starting to clear, Jihoon feels a flicker of sharp panic again. He can’t believe that Seungcheol is still coming, can’t imagine what that feels like. He loosens his legs on Seungcheol’s waist a little, but even that slight movement produces a painful pull at his hole, enough to tell him it will hurt a lot more if he tries to part from Seungcheol in earnest.

“What's happening? Did your dick just get _bigger_?” he demands. His voice is ragged, his throat scraped raw.

Rather than answer him, Seungcheol noses under his jaw, pets his tail and then kisses him again, trying to quell Jihoon's squirms.

“Just try and relax,” he murmurs against Jihoon's lips.

Jihoon fights to hold still, but he can't relax—they're _joined_ and he can't break free, and it hurts and yet the ache is sweet, and his brain doesn’t know what to make of the mixed singles of pain and pleasure. He ends up gulping for air, head spinning as the fever comes raging back.

“Relax Jihoonie,” Seungcheol says again, and Jihoon melts into the sheets all over again as Seungcheol’s hand wraps around his flagging cock and strokes it back to full hardness. He simply gives himself over, trusting Seungcheol to soothe this raging burn inside him that makes him so desperate to be touched. He can't do anything else.

Seungcheol's cock is angled just so that it rubs against Jihoon's prostate every time he moves, and Seungcheol brings him off twice before Jihoon's erection at last starts to subside.

By the second orgasm, he's half sobbing for breath and insensate—so lax and boneless he barely registers Seungcheol mouthing at his tail playfully, licking up the line of his throat, dragging his hand through the mess of come on his chest and then sucking it off his fingers, one by one.

When they’re _finally_ able to ease apart from one another, almost thirty minutes after Seungcheol's own climax, Jihoon’s too wrung-out and pleasantly sated to protest when Seungcheol props his thighs up and examines him carefully for damage, petting at his hole while the tip of Jihoon's tail sweeps lazily back and forth over the sheets.

Jihoon feels like his ass must be gaping, but when Seungcheol presses a finger up inside him, he realizes he's clenched again, holding Seungcheol's come inside—the muscles under his tail too tight to loosen that easily.

He marvels, briefly, at how Seungcheol ever managed to fit there in the first place. Then, proceeds to marvel all over again when he realises his fever has broken too.

Amazingly, the heat's gone—over.

At last, Seungcheol crawls back up the bed and flops down beside him, tugging Jihoon securely into the circle of powerful arms.

Jihoon buries his face against Seungcheol's broad chest, barely muffling a helpless sound of contentment. He can feel his exhaustion pressing down like the weight of Seungcheol’s hand on his waist, but he can’t get his mind to stop whirling, worrying about what’s happened tonight and what will happen tomorrow morning.

“That was…weird,” He mumbles, fighting to keep his own eyes open. The offended noise Seungcheol makes in response has him giggling, “I’m not saying it didn’t feel good. Just _weird_.”

When Seungcheol remains silent, Jihoon carefully presses, “Does that always happen when you have sex? The dick swelling thing.”

For a minute, he doesn't think Seungcheol is going to reply. Then Seungcheol makes a dismissive gesture, that might be the slightest bit flaily, and says, “Usually I… pull out before that happens.”

“Then why not this time?” Jihoon whispers.

When fingers that had been idly carding through his hair go still, Jihoon thinks there is something important coming, though he isn’t sure what. But after a minute, when no answer appears to be forthcoming, he raises his head to look Seungcheol in the eye, only to find the man has his eyes shut.

Asleep, Jihoon presumes. Or _faking_ it.

Whatever.

Sleep seems like the best idea in the _world_ right now.

* * *

The next morning, Jihoon wakes up slowly, almost immediately aware of his surroundings and yet not quite willing to deal with them all at once. He’s alone, yes, and his ass is on _fire_ —but his body temperature is back to a pleasant normal, and there’s a glass of water and two Anadin on his nightstand. Which is….kind of sweet.

The fact that Seungcheol’s waiting for him in the office later, greeting him with a warm smile, a breakfast burrito and an iced coffee is all the more sweeter.

They don't discuss it immediately of course—they still have work to do and a very nosy Seungkwan shooting them curious looks. But when they do finally wrap up the case, Jihoon waits till the office is empty before summoning the courage to approach Seungcheol’s desk.

He stands awkwardly for an extended moment, wringing his hands together, watching Seungcheol attempt to organise his desk into some semblance of order, before he forces himself to speak.

“So—” He begins, then immediately has to swallow around the lump forming in his throat as Seungcheol turns towards him.

Seungcheol’s expression is soft when he notices Jihoon standing there, lips curled into the quietest of smiles, and Jihoon struggles not to blush under the new attention.

“Thanks for your help the other day. Uhm—I guess I owe you one.”

Seungcheol laughs, shaking his head, “Not at all, I was happy to help,” He says, slumping back in his seat and folding his hands across his chest. “Though I _do_ think we should discuss our plans, you know, for next—”

“It won’t happen again,” Jihoon interjects quickly, his heart beating a rapid rhythm in his chest.

Seungcheol gawks at him for a long moment, plainly startled. Then his expression shutters and he gives a rigid nod.

“Right. Okay, suit yourself.”

Standing abruptly, cold and angular and eyes averted, he reaches for his jacket and tugs it on, movements so stiff it's impossible _not_ to read the hurt in them.

For a moment, Jihoon can only look on stupidly, faltering in the face of Seungcheol’s abrupt mood shift. But as the man moves past him towards the exit, he finally manages to scrounge up the wherewithal to say, “Cheol—wait!”

Seungcheol stills, shoulders hunched in his jacket, so defensively postured that Jihoon finds himself quite unexpectedly tongue-tied again.

And _dammit_ —this is not how it was supposed to go.

He had _things_ he wanted to say—important things—but he doesn't know how to even _begin_ putting them into words let alone full-blown sentences.

How does he tell Seungcheol that he hasn’t changed his bedsheets since their night together, and that he’s jerked off every night to the smell of Seungcheol in his bed, purring in his throat as he comes. How does he give voice to his suspicion that Seungcheol has been _courting_ him with all those treats, and that just maybe, Jihoon has been harbouring an attraction to him all along too. There aren’t enough words in any language to bring to light his newfound knowledge, which took some serious late-night research to discover— _werewolves only knot their intended mates._ And he definitely can’t bring himself to admit that maybe he liked it. A whole lot.

Instead, what he says, taking pains to sound neutral, is, “What I meant to say was—I’ll _plan_ it better so it won’t affect work again. _But_ ….I was hoping if you’re _free_ next time, you wouldn’t mind… _assisting_ me again.”

Seungcheol turns to face him slowly, one eyebrow raised, though the rest of his expression holds too many shadows for Jihoon to read reliably under the circumstances.

“Sure—I can do that,” he says, fishing his keys out of his jacket pocket and tapping them against his thigh. Then he grins, suddenly, that bared-tooth flash of canines Jihoon is so familiar with. “You doing anything tonight? Cause if you’re free, we could always start _practicing_ for next time.”

Jihoon's instinct is to scowl at him and say— _no, that’s a stupid idea_ ; he’d spent all day convincing himself once again that outside of his heats, he’s perfectly fine just being _friends_ with Seungcheol. It would certainly make things simpler between them—safer and smarter too.

But with the way his tail tip is already flicking excitedly against his leg, he accepts he’s not doing a very good of lying to himself today.

“Felid’s are known to be very aggressive when approached outside of heat. Are you sure you can handle that?” He says instead.

Seungcheol chuckles, a throaty rumble that has Jihoon's skin itching like he's in heat all over again.

“ _Kitten_ ,” he growls fondly. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”


End file.
